Wizard Troubles
by MusicalMuse.87
Summary: Sent on an undercover guarding mission at Hogwarts, Shikamaru dreads the long-term mission, quite convinced that it'll be a drag. Forced to go to school (and get good marks), he must guard Harry Potter and the rest of the school against the lurking dangers planted unknowingly in the very corridors of Hogwarts. No naruto pairings, hp pairings as canon. Sixth year.
1. A Troublesome Mission

AN: I've always wanted to do a fic with Shikamaru and show how awesome he is, but I'm afraid that my intellectual ability isn't on par with his so I don't know how it'll turn out... I'll try to come up with "genius" ideas, but keep in mind that I don't have an IQ over 200. This story takes place in a peaceful time that is non-existent where Naruto already defeated Pain, but the village is in perfect shape and there is no war coming up. It does not fit into the Shippuden canon.

Note that I am Canadian and therefore, use Canadian spelling.

* * *

Troublesome was only the tip of his thoughts as he stared blankly outside the window. Countless amount of trees rushed by in blurred lines of dull green with the countryside. The evening sky was a dark grey, with no clouds in his line of sight. Nara Shikamaru sighed and leaned back heavily into his hard scarlet bench in the single train compartment, no bigger than an average bathroom. The groaning sounds of the engine was enough to prevent him from falling asleep, so he did what he could to pass the time and read the extremely thick mission report (the size of a dictionary) for the 8th time. This new client had decided to enclose almost all the details about this new environment into the package. Helpful, yes, and it'll greatly improve the chances of success in this mission. But that did not make it any less of a pain in the ass. Apparently, only he could handle this mission. It made sense as he thought back on it, but still, that wouldn't make him want to do it. Going back to school is never good...

* * *

He could feel the stiff wood pressing into his back as he crossed his hands behind his head. Looking past the overhead slate, the magnificent sky was a brilliant blue and a light breeze tousled his spiky ponytail. His thoughts wandered like the puffs of cotton flying easily in the air. He envied those clouds: to live without worries or responsibilities, to be so free...

Daydreaming in his usual spot, the young chuunin lazily gazed at the drifting clouds until a shout dispersed his thoughts.

"Shikamaru!" yelled Sakura as she sprinted over. Her soft pink hair, held back by a red Konoha forehead protector, waved over her face as she came to an abrupt stop a foot into the shade. Not winded in the slightest, her strong stature casted a firm shadow over his figure. As an accomplished kunoichi and a skilled medical ninja under the tuition of Tsunade-sama herself, Haruno Sakura was a esteemed chuunin of their village. With a temper that matched her master's, her strength and double personality were not to be challenged. She had completed many valuable missions and spent some of her free time helping around the hospital and the Hokage's office. As the Fifth's student, she often went on errands on her behalf for important messages.

He slowly sat up, victorious against the protests of his lazy side, and his head swung limply in a characteristic slump.

"What now? Wait, Tsunade-sama wants me for that mission briefing right?" His right hand came up in an attempt to rub the lazy out of his face. Not working.

"Yes," she nodded briefly with tight lips. "But hurry on over. She's not in a good mood. Shizune-senpai just confiscated her stash of sake." Her mouth twitched to the side as she threw down a sideways glance. Her amused green eyes flickered tiredly to his shadowed form, which was still struggling to full consciousness. Spinning sharply to her right, she took a strong leap that carried her to the roof of a nearby building. "Come on!"

"Right... What a drag." He exhaled and managed to stand up. Spotting the blazing orange emblem of the Hokage tower, he jumped the roofs behind Sakura's retreating form.

* * *

"Shikamaru!" bellowed Tsunade with angry furrowed brows. She sat twitching in her plush crimson seat behind the simple polished desk. The mini city of paperwork had been moved to the ground behind her, almost obscuring the wide windows in the circular office. A small plant seemed entirely suffocated behind the towering piles; he had no idea how it managed to stay alive at all.

"I'm right here. You don't have to scream so loudly." sighed Shikamaru. He stood leisurely slouched with his hands hung loosely in his pants pockets. His eyes were threatening to observe the wonderful clouds outside, but her voice brought him back to reality.

"What did you say?" growled Tsunade menacingly. She slowly crossed her fingers beneath her chin and her clear brown eyes shone fiercely under the sunlight. Already plagued by the elders' requests and arduous political issues, the added effect of missing sake was visibly not helping much. Shikamaru was wise not to tempt the woman suffering from sake withdrawal symptoms.

"Nothing, nothing, just continue with your mission report..."

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared dangerously. Her clear words pronounced his doom.

"Shikamaru. This will be your longest mission yet. It is almost a year long. Do not interrupt!"

He stopped with his mouth half open as his favourite phrase died in his throat.

"You are the only one who can do this. You are the appropriate age with a chuunin rank and you have the intelligence to complete the mission while staying on top of your school work."

The implication of the phrase almost missed him. In fact, after he graduated the Academy, he was ecstatic thinking that he would never again step a foot into the tortuous prison. He raised an eyebrow. "School?"

A slight smirk creeped up onto her features. "Yes Shikamaru, but that is not all you will be worrying about. You are going to the secret world of wizards and magic."

Well, she didn't beat around the bush there.

"Our client is the esteemed Headmaster Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Now that name is way too troublesome to remember.

She slid the papers and photos across the desk for Shikamaru to see. He noted a long beard, a pair of shiny metal glasses, some colourful clothing and a happily crinkled face.

"He is a famous wizard, well known for fighting on the "Light" side," Tsunade stated plainly.

"So another hidden world like ours? I'm betting that he kept in contact with the Third," he said absentmindedly while dipping his head to study the paperwork. Beside the Headmaster's photo, there were also lots of documents written in code and another photo of a young 16 year-old boy. His bold green eyes looked back at him defiantly through his perfectly round spectacles. Underneath his unruly bangs, there hid a lightning-shaped scar.

She gave a curt nod. "He even contacted the Second and the First-" His eyebrows raised at that. How old was this client? "-though he had never needed our services until now. Your mission will be to protect the subject as well as the rest of the school against, what they call, 'the forces of evil'. Investigate the going-ons in the school for any suspicious behaviour. The Headmaster has acknowledged the fact that there are potential spies in the school that might bring harm to the students and that is in fact his greatest concern. Your priority will be to ensure the safety of the innocent students."

He knew disapproving would be futile, not while she's in a bad mood.

"The catch," she continued, "is that you must not let the subject know that you are protecting him. Befriend him and earn his trust. Do not attract unnecessary attention. No one other than Dumbledore, his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall and his trusted subordinate, Severus Snape, can know of your true mission. You must make sure of that."

"The subject will be harder to protect if he didn't know the true story," prompted Shikamaru. He could tell already that the boy was a trouble magnet.

The Hokage sighed and rubbed her fingertips against her temple. "I know, however those were the client's specific requirements. Something about the teenager not wanting to be protected. He did however pay a handsome sum for the troubles."

"Figures." Ninja were often given difficult missions, sometimes more difficult than their rank, solely based on the reason of a higher payment. Yes, they were bribed, but they were paid to do the job - a little complaint, a little more money, and the problem would be resolved.

"Anyways, the details of 'their world' are compiled in this booklet. It's in written in 'Konoha classified code 3'. Tell your family and friends that it is only a regular guarding mission but for long term. You leave tomorrow. Questions."

Her molten auburn eyes stared at him with scorching intensity. He responded hesitantly.

"How is this world of theirs hidden? We are isolated and have so many strong wards around the Hidden Continents that we've lost count, but somehow, I don't think that is the case with them."

With an acknowledging nod, she said simply, "That is true. They are magical. You will see things you'd never expect. They have charms and spells and wards and the like to keep the non-magical folk from noticing."

Interesting... Hiding in plain sight. "How about the fact that I am also non-magical and will therefore not be allowed in or however they do things?"

With a careless wave of her hand, she answered. "According to Dumbledore, you will have no problem with that since you are also magical. Apparently, shinobi can count as wizards since we are able to use chakra. I am assuming that their magic is based on channeling the natural chakra through the magic core of their wands in order to use that energy for spells. We weave hand signs in order to channel our own inner chakra stores. And by switching sources, you'll be able to do magic as well. It will be much more easier to control than Naruto's Sage Mode because you'll have a sort of adapter in the form of a wand. Eleven year old wizards and witches with no shinobi training are capable of doing it after all."

"Makes sense..."

"Final note. You have to catch up on five years of school material and you have to keep up with the school work! That is a key aspect of your mission. _ Stay on top of your classes_. I have given you time in Diagon Alley to practice your magic. Think of it as training and_ you_ _must perfect it_. You are adjourned."

Her gaze held an unspoken threat of and he knew best not to defy her orders. They both knew in silence that by learning this new magic business, it could benefit the village as a whole in the future. If he mastered everything perfectly, he could bring back the useful techniques and teach it to the more able-minded shinobi. He could already sense the secondary mission that would follow after completing this one. His lazy side knew that arguing to send another person would be pointless and it would be too troublesome to attempt it anyways. After sensing a sort of defeat from her subordinate, the Hokage dismissed him with a flick of her hand and swiveled her chair to face the bright blue sky outside the office.

Frowning, he pivoted on one foot to leave the crowded room.

* * *

The sun was still blazing high up beyond the clouds by the time he had finished. Strolling out of a neighbourhood shinobi store, Shikamaru checked the necessary supplies that he bought for the year-long mission: weapons and scrolls - the standard equipment. He sighed as he recalled the Hokage's strict orders. School. The Academy was so boring and he only went there to sleep anyways. Assignments and tests alike, it was too troublesome to move the pencil to write. And there'd be no point in writing the thing if he didn't study. Which of course involved lots of meaningless reading through thick tomes and scrolls and actually concentrating during class time. What a drag.

"Oi Shikamaru." A continuous crunching sound accompanied the familiar voice.

"Hmm?" He centred back on reality as he found his way out of his thoughts. "Oh Choji. What's up?"

His best friend and fellow teammate from the Akimichi clan chewed noisily on his favorite barbecued flavoured chips. Long bushy brown hair draped over his grey armor and red outfit. They've been friends ever since they were kids, from their parents' friendship and their own team bond. Shikamaru had helped him through tough times during their childhood and now they knew virtually everything about each other.

"New mission?" he asked amiably, eyeing the supplies.

"Yeah, long-term too. 11 months."

"11 months?!" screamed Yamanaka Ino with her long blonde ponytail flying out behind her. As the final member of the old Team Asuma, she was a fashionable kunoichi and rivals with Sakura. When she was still a genin, she used to dislike her teamates, but training, surviving missions and completing the chuunin exams as a team drastically altered her opinion. The three of them formed the second generation of the infamous trio combination of special ninjutsu: Ino-Shika-Cho.

She had come out of her mother's flower shop to say a brief hello when she saw the pair of them. That idea simply sizzled away when she heard Shikamaru's comment.

"Whoa, don't scream. I'm only a metre away from you." He rubbed his ear. Women always scream at him, and him alone: Sakura, the Fifth, Temari, Ino, his mom... He suppressed a shiver and refocused on his friend's complaints.

"That's way too long! You've got things to do here. What type of mission is it anyway, since it's so long? Reconnaissance?" Her slender hands were positioned arrogantly at her hips and her deep blue eyes stared, narrowed and accusing, at him.

"Not really, more like guarding." He grimaced.

"Can't Tsunade-sama send someone else?" She was practically whining at this point.

"She doesn't pick people randomly for missions. You know that." Choji looked nervously between a wild Ino and an insensitive Shikamaru. A couple of seconds ticked by.

"Well there you have it Ino. It can't be that bad. Plus he'll get lots of experience and stuff while he's over there." Choji said soothingly, deciding to calm down the seething Ino.

"Why're you so mad anyways?" commented Shikamaru. Not that it didn't happen often, but her anger usually had a reason.

Her fury faded and her expression changed. She looked down furtively at her fallen hands and said, "Well, it'll be the longest we've ever been apart."

"That's it?" Her head snapped back up in a furious glare. Her bright eyes were sparkling with tears.

"Whoa, no I didn't mean it that way. You'll still have Choji and everyone else. Plus it's not like we're not going to see each other ever again," he consoled.

"No, that's not it. It's just... It'll be the first anniversary of Asuma-sensei's death day in a couple of months so I wanted to commemorate it together as Team 10."

A moment of silence fell between the three of them as they remembered their fond memories as genin under Asuma-sensei: Various training sessions, the missions they've went on, the barbecues they've eaten, the earrings they got... He was a cool adult and he put up with them during their genin days. He taught them the essentials that they didn't learn at the Academy and guided them into becoming successful chuunin.

"There'll be other years," said Shikamaru quietly, fingering his left earring. "It won't be the only year. Plus, I'll find a way to contact the two of you. We won't be cut off completely." he added, lightening up. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. If anything, it's you two I should be worrying about."

"Heh, you shouldn't worry either. Concentrate on your mission. I'll take care of Ino." chuckled Choji.

"Hey!"

"See you guys in 11 months!" laughed Shikamaru, lifting a single hand in farewell.

* * *

Smiling lightly at the memory, Shikamaru briefly shook his head to clear his thoughts as he glanced back at the coded information packet in his hands. Back to the basics. He was going to the world of magic, where he could say a few funny words, wiggle a stick and make magical things happen. Where spiders the size of small buildings, giants and soul-sucking Dementors existed. Where pictures were pretty much alive, ghosts were actually real and people flew on broomsticks. It was kind of hard to swallow. However, perhaps in a civilian's perspective, shinobi seemed magical too since they could clone themselves, transform themselves, manipulate the elements, etc.

He had been enrolled in Hogwarts to attend his 6th year as a transfer student (who would diligently study and stay awake during classes). He will be "sorted" into Gryffindor as an undercover guard to the subject, Harry Potter, who also happened to be a student celebrity and a boy of a mysterious prophecy (contents unclear and classified. In other words, none of his business). Since he is undercover, he is not to tell anyone of his mission details (exempting those who hired him) nor any clue of his real identity as a shinobi. Jutsus and weapons are only to be used in dire emergencies to protect a student. The alleged subject has overcome trials every year from saving a Philosopher's Stone to facing Voldemort himself in his latest attempt to invade the Ministry of Magic. He caused and attracted trouble of all kinds, creating all kinds of stress for his friends, teachers, headmaster and will create, for his new guard. Potter's mind is mentally unstable, caused by his connection to Voldemort and by the most recent trauma of watching his godfather die (by falling through a veil) last June.

Two words could summarize this upcoming babysitting escapade from the Village of the Leaf: "How troublesome..."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it! Please go on and read the second chapter! It's way better! Please review =)


	2. Journey to Diagon Alley

AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I didn't expect any at all to be honest.  
I decided to ignore language problems because:  
I find written accents annoying and difficult to read  
I don't want language difficulties to be a part of the story. I think it's unnecessary.

Also, Sorry for the chapter delay! Unfortunately, you won't be seeing any more until winter break...

* * *

After a several hours of rereading the same material, the chuunin managed to get off the train and leave the small deserted train station. He memorized the basics and now he only had the school work left to catch up on. Slinging one bag over his shoulder and stuffing the other hand into his pocket, he gathered in his surroundings. Despite it being a relatively quiet train station, the town square outside was bustling with business. He could spot a tall clock tower in the distance as well as the curves and the bumps of buildings over the horizon. People of all ages were doing all sorts of things ranging from chatting idly on the sidewalk, to sprinting while juggling various objects in order to catch that bus across the street. An old couple sat serenely on a bench and middle-aged women gossiped suspiciously near the local coffee shop. In other words, it was an average town square.

In an attempt not to be rude, instead of pushing his way through the crowds, Shikamaru took the long route around to Charing Cross Road. He breathed in the fresh early July air as he walked around the numerous people. Though the temperature seemed to suit November weather better, he didn't complain; he was well packed after all. However, there seemed to be a stifled tension held in the air as he moved around the cold-faced citizens. While passing the gossiping women, he overheard snippets of conversation.

"The Brockdale bridge just collapsed! Clean in two! Those darn engineers just can't build a bridge right, can they?"

"I know! And those meteorologists too! How do you _not_ predict a freak hurricane, hmm?"

Attention piqued, he naturally swung over to Caffé Nero for a reason to sit next to them. Keeping up to date in the current world was an important part of any mission. The moment he set foot inside the shop, the warmth washed over him and the divine smells of baked goods was very welcome. The clear glass cases displayed many scrumptious treats that Choji was sure to enjoy; he had to remember to bring some back with him on the return trip. The dainty shop had artful paintings on the wall along with a chalkboard that showed their menu. It had a similar feeling to the local bakeries back at the village. Once in a while, he would drop by for a single stick of dango. Unfortunately, he was on a schedule and those women outside weren't going to stop talking just for him. Quickly moving to the nearest cashier, the shinobi casually ordered a small cup of Earl Grey tea. Luckily, Tsunade-sama gave him some pounds to use in that magical money bag of his.

* * *

Striding over to a nearby table outside, just two metres away from the conversation, he pulled back the lone curvy metal chair and sat down, setting his gloved hands on the cool glass table. The three women were standing stiffly hunched, crowded in an irregular semicircle. They were all donned in normal Muggle clothing, warm and long for the strange weather. Witches wouldn't discuss magical situations in broad daylight, and if they did, they would cast some sort of spell to prevent anyone from hearing. Clearly a simple group of Muggles, he appointed this particular distraction as an information gathering session from the Muggle perspective. He knew the wizarding world was in a carefully hidden chaos at the moment, with the Ministry doing all they can to control the potential burst of panic. However, he had never heard of any dire news reaching the Muggle community. Those women were right: these accidents aren't just accidents. As opposed to what they may think however, experts can't just all at once lose their competence in their jobs. It had to be a magical explanation. He surreptitiously listened to the harsh whispers as he sipped the hot liquid, all the while keeping a trained eye on the group.

"Some people just can't do their jobs right, can they?" scoffed the one holding the deep purple umbrella with ruffles. She had a pompous air to her as she looked, dignified and superior, over the other two.

"I heard there was another murder yesterday too! What are those policemen doing, I wonder?" added the one with the velvet hat. The amount of makeup layered on her face was absolutely horrendous and could probably pass for an abstract work of art.

"No! Do tell! Is it the same killer as the Vance case last week?" said the one with the long woolen scarf. Her pointed nose and beady little eyes reminded him of a rodent, even more so with her twitching fingers, fiddling furiously with her scarf.

"Who knows?" she replied mysteriously with her blatant pink lips as the other two crowded in closer. "There seemed to be lots of struggle at the crime scene, but there was no blood. But all the medical examiners say that the victim endured unworldly amounts of pain. They didn't release this to the press, but my husband happens to be one of them." She said this all in a hoarse voice, as if narrating a horror story, though her tone changed notably when she mentioned her trustworthy information source. Jealousy was shoddily hidden on the other women's features.

"But he also said, that it looked like she was... tortured." She had paused theatrically for dramatic effect. At her last pronouncement, her bulbous eyes bulged, outlined by the bold fake lashes, as if trying to escape her sockets. Predictably, the other two gasped theatrically.

"Tortured! What monsters exist out there!"

"Dear me!"

It was a wonder how they managed to contain their excited voices at a whisper. Evidently, they would all like to shout out the news to the entire world. As if no one knew.

"For hours on end apparently," continued the one with the hat, drinking in their keen attention. "Even though she was hurt, the effects of the torture weren't enough to kill her. It seemed like she just dropped dead, literally." Her manicured hands were making all sorts of wild gestures to her companions, pulling them along in her dramatic story.

"Because... the door was locked from the inside!" At this melodramatic proclamation, the one like a rodent held up a frail hand to her forehead, and seemed to experience a dizzy spell. She faltered in her stance, and even took a step back. The others didn't notice, and continued in their heated discussion.

"Well, that's just like Ms. Vance last week! It seemed like she just 'dropped dead' as well!" one exclaimed. Her knuckles were stark white, gripping the poor umbrella in a vice-like grip in her excitement.

"I do say, it'll have to be the same killer," said the one with the scarf, recovering quickly from her 'fainting spell'.

Nodding fiercely, the one with the hat spoke. "That's just it, isn't it? Well, at least this lady was just some crazy person living alone. No family, or pets either. Not a big lost to our society is it?"

"She wasn't one of those old cat ladies?" inquired the one with the umbrella, holding back waves of laughter. Her face was tightly screwed up in a poor imitation of respect for the dead.

"Nope." A tinge of a smirk sneaked past the weak defenses of her expression.

"Wait, what was her name again?" squeaked the one with the scarf.

"Amelia Bones."

He almost choked. Almost. From the files he read, she was a highly distinguished member of the wizarding community, an esteemed member of Wizengamot and the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She definitely had a family, even if she wasn't married. Not a big lost to our society? Yeah right. Ms. Vance, though not famously known in the wizarding community (and for good reason), was a prominent member of the Order of the Phoenix and was a talented witch. She survived Voldemort's first reign and lived to act as one of the Advanced Guard for Harry. These murders must have been a huge blow to the wizarding world and he was sure that Voldemort was going to strike again very soon. Peering down at his paper cup, he downed the last of its contents and silently stood up. Precisely tossing it into a metal trash bin, he pushed back the chair and went back to the main road, leaving the chattering society ladies to their daily entertainment.

Edging his way through the currents of people, Shikamaru spotted the ragged and rundown structure with his keen shinobi eyes. From what he could make of the faded letters, he had reached his destination: The Leaky Cauldron. When he finally escaped the clutches of the London crowd, he silently pushed open the old wooden door and noticed the soft creak of the hinges as it stiffly swung out of his way. Once inside, he took in the dirty bar and dusty furnishings; in this case, the book _can_ be judged by its cover. Overall, it was gloomy and foreboding with the damp atmosphere and the dim lighting, provided by the low hung medieval chandelier. Rough tables of various sizes and carved chairs were packed in the average lobby. The cross-paned windows were smudged and coloured with spots of dust and a thin film of grime. They let in minimal amounts of light. The long scuffed bar that occupied most of the space was where the only customer sat, who was sluggishly ordering more rounds. A tired old bartender stood there making light conversation while cleaning a small shot glass. Balding and toothless, he resembled a hairy walnut with the puffs of hair at the sides of his head. Shikamaru stepped up to the barkeeper.

* * *

"One room for six weeks, if you may," said a voice. Tom turned his head to find a strange man, no, a teenager standing in front of him. He looked quizzically at the hooded figure, wondering about the mature air about him. The narrow eyes stared back at him and he looked positively _bored_. How could he, at a time like this?

"Uh sure. Here's the key for room 12. That's just up the stairs, down the corridor and to your left. Um, you can get breakfast here in the morning too. Name's Tom," he responded hesitantly while handing Shikamaru the rusted room key.

With a lazy nod, the teen acknowledged his thanks, paid the gold without Tom asking and without a backward glance, disappeared to the second floor.

"Strange kid..." muttered Tom as he wiped another glass mug.

* * *

Shikamaru stepped into room 12 and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was modest according to wizarding standards: A four poster bed with white linen sheets and a flexible pillow, a cross-paned window directly across, a metre tall rectangular mirror across from the bed, a decent-sized closet for his belongings beside it and a small bedside table. Crouched stiffly on its surface was a grumpy-looking clock which just shouted in a screechy voice, "It's 7am!" He twitched as his shinobi reflexes reacted violently and he almost whipped out his kunai. Staring back at its irritated face, he sighed.

All in all, it was a very luxurious chamber to a shinobi like him, who was used to the bare necessities: a shelter and a meal were lucky breaks when camping out during a mission. Going hungry or soaking in rain wasn't a misfortune; it was commonplace and something to be prepared for. Setting his brown sack on the floor next to the bed, he flopped down on his back on the magically cleaned blankets and crossed his left hand behind his head. Fishing out the mission details from inside his cloak, he glanced at the list of school supplies.

'Wand, cauldron, school books, potions ingredients, scales, telescope, crystal phials, uniform and an optional pet.' He had go shopping now before the train leaves six weeks from now. Additionally, there was Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defense Against Dark Arts, and Herbology to learn. Tsunade-sama gave him six weeks to learn five years of school work and to revise for the coming year. The tight schedule was enough to prove that the Hokage knew him very well. It was just like her to send him off with only just enough time to get prepared for school before the train arrives. He wasn't even sure if he was capable of doing so, depending on the difficulty of the practical magic. That meant that slacking off was definitely not an option.

First things first, he will have to get all the supplies. And so, today shall be shopping day. The chuunin smiled wearily and slid himself unwillingly out of bed. He then checked his breast pocket for the mole-skin pouch filled with money that will give him the essential funds for school supplies. _clink! _He then made sure to cover his head with the hood of his robes. He nodded and strode out of the room silently and locked the door behind him with a soft_ click_. Stepping quickly, he reached the 1st floor within a couple of seconds and weaved through the chairs and the tables.

Slipping out the rusty side door, he approached the red brick wall. It was worn down and the long cracks that decorated the wall told him of its age. Recalling the information from the detailed report, he realized that he needed a wand to access the world beyond. However, the chuunin also recalled that magic was basically chakra. After counting three bricks up and two across three times, he easily molded chakra in his palms and pressed them against the mysterious brick. It wiggled, it wobbled and the wall crumbled before his eyes. Cascading to the sides, the bricks opened the way to the famed Diagon Alley.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it!

I know this was a short chapter, but the next one will be longer and more exciting. I'm itching to write it, but I can't do that until winter break.  
Please read and review!


	3. Attack of Diagon Alley (Part One)

AN: Thank you guys sooo much for reading and reviewing my story! Every single one of your reviews are cherished and appreciated. Without further ado, here is the next chapter: _The Attack of Diagon Alley - Part 1_

* * *

Dreary and miserable, his first impression of it was a populated ghost town. A couple of shops here and there were boarded up with thick splintered planks, hiding the hopeless black dread in the depths of the shop. The damp cobble street, slick with silt, reflected the bright rays of the sun. Walking in clamped clusters were paranoid bunches of wizards and witches, with their hoods hiding half their faces and the long cape obscuring their bodies. Many held hands, but most had their wand arm hovering fixedly over a particular spot underneath their robes. Bordering each side of the road was a continuous line of shops that ran straight and then along a smooth curve to its right. With the new proclamation of Lord Voldemort's return, only a few remnants of the colourful sounds and loud displays could be seen through the murky glass. The trinkets and models, usually boldly out in front, were all ushered into the confines of the stores. And for the final touch, plastered all over splintered walls and misty windows were large posters stained a bleak purple. It was clearly the work of the Ministry and they didn't leave a single store uncovered.

Sidestepping the nervous groups of people who were sneaking suspicious glances at his solitary figure, he approached the nearest poster, just to his left, charmed to the glass of a store called "Potage's Cauldron Shop". At a glance, the title announced: "WANTED: Dangerous Criminals and Known Followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Convicted Fugitives. Do not approach. Notify the authorities immediately." He wasn't sure whether or not to be happy about the few number of photos shown. Would it mean that only a few had escaped the ghastly prison of Azkaban and the rest were safely locked behind bars? Or would it mean that the majority have managed to elude capture altogether and were quietly anticipating their master's next move? The latter was definitely more plausible, however unsettling that the wizarding justice system was severely flawed. He shot one last intuitive glance at the crazy witch with the flailing hair and the unnaturally spherical eyes. She gave him that insane chill that uncomfortably reminded him of Hidan, an Akatsuki member that he defeated long ago. He then guided his gaze to the next notice. Also the same size, it had a long list of to-do's and not-to-do's. Somehow, the whole of the text was successfully squeezed on the poster without looking too cramped. It read:

_Issued on Behalf of the Ministry of Magic_

_PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY_

_AGAINST DARK FORCES_

_The wizarding community is currently under threat from an organisation calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family and your home from attack._

_1. You are advised not to leave the house alone._

_2. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen_

_3. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms and, in the case of under-age family members, Side-Along-Apparition._

_4. Agree security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of Polyjuice Potion._

_5. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend or neighbour is acting in strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse._

_6. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately._

_7. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi. Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY_.

Shikamaru frowned lightly. From the descriptions and archives present in the information packet, the Death Eaters were a ruthless bunch, handpicked by Lord Voldemort himself. Orders were to be followed by punishment of extreme torture or death. People such as them would definitely value themselves more than others and would not hesitate to follow their master's orders. As a result, they certainly wouldn't care if it were day or night or if someone was alone or in a group. As for number three: security arrangements were fine and dandy, if people actually _remembered _it during times of emergency. Everyone understood that screaming and random running would not help the situation, so why do it? Panic is the usual diagnosis for such cases since it tends to cause momentary memory loss as well as a temporary block to rationality. Next up: polyjuice potion. Whenever a shinobi plans to transform into another person as a part of an undercover mission, it is basic knowledge to do extensive research on every detail of said character before attempting the transformation: from everyday behaviour to their favourite flavour of jam. If the Death Eaters did not know this fundamental rule of espionage, then one might question the intelligence of the opposing force.

At least the poster wasn't a complete waste. If there were wizards or witches out there who were as curious as a cat, the last three instructions may prevent them from finding out that they _don't _have nine lives.

After picking apart the text on the notice, he refocused on the task on hand and looked down once more at the desolate alley. Overhead, the clouds were starting to loom over ominously; their usual white countenance were colouring over with dusty splashes of ash; he would have to hurry. People scurried to form great clusters at the side as he shifted his gaze, parting as if his stare would infect them with a terminal disease.

Within the next hour, Shikamaru visited all the stores necessary: Potage's Cauldron Shop, Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, the Apothecary and Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. He would buy the books last, considering the mountainous load he would have to carry. Being the careful ninja that he was, he would use a different _henge _with every shop that he visited. From a scraggly bearded hermit to a prim housewife, he didn't let a single detail go to waste (though he did make sure to just change his facial appearance for the robe fitting). However, he didn't put up a front for the Leaky Cauldron. Considering that it would be the place he would frequent the most, he didn't wish to exhaust his chakra stores. Though it was quite chakra consuming, he felt that it was worth safeguarding against a potential enemy. Furthermore, the elaborate series of disguises would only be used for a single day since he would have no need to venture outside afterwards (He sighed once more at the thought of the extensive studying that will soon follow). In this environment where every wizard was paranoid, he used his shinobi knowledge to its fullest extent, but he had yet to notice a suspicious person.

Finally, he approached the address of the wand shop. Casually swinging into a concealed side route, he discreetly formed another _henge _into a burly fifth year student, complete with tousled chestnut bristles and the comings of a thin mustache. Waiting another minute for extra measure, he walked out purposefully: a great contrast to the limping gait he had earlier. Shikamaru swivelled his head round until he spotted another rickety old building, deep at the South end. There were numerous cracks and the peeling plaster revealed aged bricks making up the structure of the building. Boldly placed above the door, a splintered sign with faded text read, "Ollivander's Wand Shop: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.". The golden letters were flaking off and there were no visible attempts to restore it. Overall, the shop had a wise air of a magical library and beyond the foggy panes, he caught glimpses of looming bookshelves. He could feel a subtle buzz of chakra as well. Suddenly, there was a heavy creak, and two figures pulled opened the door, filing smartly out into the street.

"Thirteen inches of cherry with unicorn hair! Thanks GranGran!" came a joyful voice from a round pudgy face. He was earnestly clutching a royal red box, containing his new treasure. His almond eyes were brimming with happiness.

"A gift for my brave grandson, hmm?" The stern old woman had let a tinge of a smile lift a corner of her mouth. Walking briskly, she added, "Let's go down to Madam Malkin's. You've been showing a bit of ankle with your current robes." The boy nodded excitedly and scurried after her, despite the fact that he was a good inch taller than her.

The strange image of a stuffed vulture hat and a scarlet handbag stayed in his mind as he entered the store.

_Ting-a-ling _rang the light chime of the bell. A rich scent of wood and polish permeated his nose; light wood chip particles visibly floated in the air. Upon inspection, the shop did indeed look like a cramped library though the tall bookcases weren't filled with books; they were filled with slender boxes, stacked compactly to ensure the lack of gaps. To his right, he spotted a worn desk in the corner standing humbly beside the entrance to the workshop.

Immediately arising from the shadows appeared an old withered face. His wispy hair stuck out at odd angles and gave him the appearance of a stereotypical mad scientist.

His voice croaked out mysteriously, "You are looking for a wand I presume?"

He nodded mutely. A craftsman's hand lifted up and adjusted his dusty spectacles.

"Well, you're certainly not a first year, and I've never seen anyone who even remotely resembles you. Are you a Muggle-born?"

He grinned a bit and lied good-naturedly. "No, my parents bought their wands at another wandmaker's, and I did too for my first year. It snapped in a recent battle unfortunately. I've heard tales of your fine wandmaking and have seen several models of your wands. I am quite satisfied with your work so I chose to come here instead." Flattery provided an excellent distraction for his last-minute cover. It was a proven method.

"It is delightful to hear that my hard work and research has paid off," he said with a content smile. "Now hold out your wand arm and let's take some measurements, shall we?"

Holding out his hand obediently, a magical tape measure flitted out of its cubby and started to measure every centimetre of his body. It reminded him of an insect: buzzing around and doing its work around him: an attractive flower. While it zipped around him, Mr. Ollivander stepped over to the tall shelves and randomly selected a mahogany box with golden trimmings on the bottom. Just like everything else in the room, it had a fine sprinkle of dust on it.

"Well, Mr...?" He noticed that the tape measure had now flitted away and had rolled itself neatly on his desk.

"Weis, sir." He had come up with the name randomly while listening in on snippets of conversation along the Alley.

"Well Mr. Weis, let's try this one. Twelve and a half inches, made of sequoia with a phoenix core. Sturdy and a fine wand for transfiguration. Now give it a nice wave." Mr. Ollivander had lifted the lid and drew out a wonderful piece of wood, beautifully finished.

Shikamaru hesitantly took the wand, unconvinced of the wand's built-in mechanisms to control nature chakra. Naruto, the hero of _Konoha_, had said it was the most difficult training he had gone through and he was the only shinobi in the entire village that had mastered it. Even though Jiraiya-sama had achieved extremely good results, he had still retained several frog-like characteristics. He nervously grasped the firm end of the redwood wand, half expecting to grow warts and webbed feet. Instead, he felt a great whoosh of energy flow through his chakra system. The power he felt was extraordinarily refreshing and he unconsciously flicked his wrist, swishing the wand through the air. Like confetti, sparks burst automatically from its tip without any guidance; red and green pranced joyfully in the air in a wonderful harmonious duet. The gentle tingling in his fingertips was curious, and he knew there was only one word for it: _magic_. Though he still nervously checked his arms and face with his free hand, breathing a barely audible sigh of relief at the lack of growths or extra skin. Lowering his arm steadily, he carefully cupped the wood in his hand and examined it. The carvings on the handle were intricate and elegantly made; the leaves deeply etched into the wood seemed to flutter in an eternal dance, forever interacting in a delicate balance. Suddenly remembering the presence of the wandmaker, he hastily looked up, embarrassed that he got lost in his musings.

Mr. Ollivander was grumpy. It was spread all over his face: from the deep crevices of his wrinkles, to his frizzled hairline at the forehead. The disappointment was as plain as the wand in his own hand and he asked, with his brows scrunched up,

"Any reason why you're so put down?"

"I've never sold a wand in one try before. And it is always more fun to deal with a tough customer." He was anticipating a child's whine, but was instead met with a tired sigh. Just trying to have fun with his job he supposed. Either way, Shikamaru thought his logic was a bit backwards, but he didn't pay it much heed. He had a new wand, but he was still dreading the homework. Having a wand was more interesting, but it also added the effect of more training, which meant hours of memorizing and of reading through the thick tomes that he would have to buy. The new wand movements and exact pronunciations would have to be strenuously practiced under threat of an super powerful Fifth Hokage (who could destroy buildings with a flick of a finger) and potentially jeopardizing a tricky mission. How troublesome.

He had only gently placed the wand in his sturdy breast pocket when he felt it: wave after wave of cruel avidity, like a predator hunting its prey. The stifling feeling flooded his senses and all his instincts were setting off the alarms of coming danger. The enemy was coming in a large group and he could easily guess their identity; there was only one villain in the wizarding world after all.

Standard procedure: get the innocent civilians to safety. Though Mr. Ollivander wasn't a civilian, he didn't exactly have the appearance of a ready warrior.

The features on the teenager's face hardened and he quickly said, "Sorry Mr. Ollivander, but you have to hide. Now!" His low articulate whispers seemed to have awakened a sense of peril in the shopkeeper's mind.

"What in Merlin's? Why?" he spluttered anxiously. He was answered with an overwhelming chorus of cracks that echoed outside in the Alley. Then, he caught a glimpse of billowing black cloaks, inundating the square.

He obeyed the whispered instructions without a second thought. Shuffling hurriedly to hide underneath his desk, he squeezed himself in the cramped space quite well for a man of his age.

"Put on a camouflaging spell, and don't emerge until I do." He hastily complied with a shakily muttered Disillusionment Charm. Shikamaru proceeded to swiftly conceal himself in the shadows at the other end of the room. No later had he done so did an almighty _boom_ sound from just outside the shop. The mere foundation of the wand shop shook violently and he feared for the fragile wands sitting peacefully on the rickety shelves. He was not able to see the chaos outside through the frosted glass, however the sounds were enough to tell: noises from the crashing destruction were thunderous, screams were erupting all over the Alley, but above all, piercing laughter was heard amongst the chanted incantations. Suddenly, the innocent bell was ripped off its hinges from the force used to blast open the door. Mr. Ollivander was wise to choke back his gasp in his throat when the three men in black cloaks stormed into the shop. The Death Eaters had come.

* * *

Just a few days prior, Adanis Petrilov was personally assigned this mission by an esteemed member of the Inner Circle in one of those special discussion rooms. It was utterly bare, save himself and the other. Mr. Yaxley had stood before him, articulately enunciating the instructions with his hands folded righteously behind his back with an elegant poise. Hiding his cold features was the honoured mask. It was coloured a sleek black and had sinister eye slits positioned like a snake's. Petrilov had felt himself breaking into a cold sweat just by peering into the carved features, and yet he still longed to attain it. He knew that he would feel entirely different, if it was his own face behind it.

"Petrilov." Mr. Yaxley's clear voice rang authoritatively, enveloping him in its power. "The Dark Lord specifically chose you for this task. The Dark Lord acknowledges your accomplishments. He awards his loyal followers - I would know." He leaned forward critically and sternly observed his face. His masked face dipped downwards, accenting his place as a higher being in the scale of Death Eaters. Petrilov could almost feel the man's eyes narrowing haughtily at him. He had worked hard ever since his acceptance into the Dark Lord's servitude, though he was only ever a lowly pawn of a large crowd. He understood that. However, his fists always clenched with frustration whenever he watched the numerous men, selected by the Dark Lord himself, return as failures. They would be justifiably tortured and shamed in front of their comrades, crying out with pain by the work of His own hand. They would beg for mercy but He was not merciful, so acknowledgement was great praise. It was the first step to attaining his dream.

"Thank you, sir." As a mere follower without any status, he kept his head deeply bowed respectfully. His hands were held rigidly at his sides, like dead weights charmed to the sides of his robes. A single sweat drop started to roll down his neck. He felt the icy moisture trailing slowly, like a slug leaving its slime behind in its wake. Was it only him that felt that time had drastically slowed down? Or was it Mr. Yaxley, playing mind games with him? The man was a true Slytherin, and he had seen many others crumble under his silky voice and cunning blackmail. He deserved his place in the Inner Circle, and with the success of this next mission, Petrilov was aiming for a place as well.

"You are to capture the old wandmaker: Ollivander." His words were crisp, yet his voice was lulling and smooth. A foot turned slowly, dragging a few centimetres before stepped, tracing a wide arc with Petrilov's stiff figure at its centre. One more, and another, the sweat drops slid, down the sides of his forehead, down his neck and absorbing into the collar of his robes. His hands started to tremble.

"Yes, sir." A standard response was all he gave. He did not dare to say anything else, nor was he capable of finding the words to do so. His tongue and throat suddenly ran dry and sandy. He swallowed several times. The sounds of his superior's foot hitting the granite floor was unnerving, and it did not help his symptoms of anxiety. The only other sounds were that of muffled steps above them, and hushed voices outside the room.

"Acquire two other men to complete the mission with you." It was then, that a sudden, glorious image filled his mind in spite of the dim, green-lighted room. He will be the leader of a team. However small, it was a start and was considerably better than being a mere leaf on a tree. Perhaps now, he was a twig but would grow to be a branch of the Inner Circle.

"Yes, sir." He hoped that he didn't have more emotion in this answer than the last. Without having kept track of Mr. Yaxley's movements, he realized that his superior had already made it back in a full circle and was continuing on his second round.

"Once you have restrained him, Apparate _immediately _to the headquarters." The inflection in his phrasing sent chills reverberating through his entire body, but the heat growing from within him was enough to counter it. The warmth of his confidence was only just the beginning.

"Yes, sir." His own monotonous reply was starting to bore him. He would show Yaxley, Dolohov, Lestrange: all of them. He would climb to the top, knocking them all to the bottom while he was at it, and he will win the Dark Lord's gratitude to stand at the pinnacle that was His right side.

"You may then present him to the Dark Lord. A great honour as I am sure you are aware." Oh, he was. It was Yaxley who wasn't aware of the grand effects that it would trigger. He wasn't aware that the seemingly insignificant underdog standing before him would easily defeat him with every promotion that he will gain. He wasn't aware that the man trembling before him is, in reality, shaking from quiet anticipation.

"I am, sir." But no, he could not show this man pacing circles around him his ambitious goals. He will be stealthy and cunning in order to weave his way through the many Death Eaters with similar plots. No one would suspect anything from Petrilov, only a humble servant in the presence of his master.

"But you _cannot _fail." Yaxley had stopped pacing and had abruptly turned to face him, trying to intimidate him with his mysterious mask.

"I will not, sir." He kept his words low and steady. It was inconceivable that he would fail this mission. To capture the old man while the rest of the lowly followers were outside causing a diversion would only be too easy. And this small step will cause all the other dominoes to his success to tumble rapidly.

"Good. Make sure of it." Once again, Yaxley tried the same intimidation tactic. Only Petrilov knew, that it wasn't Yaxley playing mind games anymore. _He _was the one playing mind games. And he was going to win.

"Yes, sir." He almost let a smirk sneak up onto his face.

* * *

Petrilov felt triumphant, banging the door to its side as he conquered it with his minions. He didn't even have to use the _Homenum Revelio _spell; he could feel the old man's presence in the room; it felt like as it all the fear was compressed in the very air around him.

"Ollivander! Get out here!" Not expecting a reaction, he strode deeper into the structure of the antique shop: old and frail just like his prize. The swivelling shadows sneaking around the floor were comforting, and he led the other two into the centre aisle to check for Ollivander. He moved swiftly, peering into each aisle briefly before moving on to the next; there was no time to waste and he couldn't wait to present the capture to the Dark Lord.

Empty, empty, empty... His impatience grew as the opposing stone wall steadily approached him. He thought he heard a fierce whisper but he couldn't catch the words. Then, he couldn't move.

"Petrilov! I can't move!" came the petrified squeak of the one at his left.

"I've never felt a Stupefy like this before!" screamed the one at his right.

"You_ idiots_! This isn't Stupefy, it's something else entirely. Show yourself!" He fully expected the arrogant face of Ollivander creeping out from the nearest wandshelf, leering at his victory. There was only silence.

He caught sight of an ash sphere twirling through the air to land at his feet. As if a bag of flour was detonated in his face, he was engulfed in a dense smoke. What kind of person used physical objects to cause a smokescreen? Then, there was a sudden jerk, and his right leg moved forward by itself, followed by the left. He was fixedly walking towards the wall with his minions mirroring his moves. Petrilov tried to fight it with all his strength, panicking at the possible doom. His win and his upward climb were vapourizing like the smoke and dissipating into the air. He didn't even have enough time to attempt to magically dispel the paralysis. He only took about five steps until his head nodded violently forward and it collided painfully with the durable stone. Three cracks resounded throughout the store.

* * *

"Ollivander! Get out here!" roared the leader. His mouth was twisted in an unpleasant grimace, and he scanned the room, stomping to the row of wand shelves and away from Ollivander's desk. The other two hastily followed, keeping their horizontal line formation and their wands at the ready. They slipped clumsily from shelf to shelf, moving farther and farther away, seemingly thinking that they would catch Ollivander cowering beside his precious wands. Shikamaru couldn't help but think how horrible their posture was. Their legs were only an inch apart and they took long strides while their arms stuck out in a fashion that reminded him of chicken wings.

Their poor fighting stance was almost pitying. But it was not for that reason that he wasn't going to kill them. According to his sources, the amount of information on Voldemort's plans and army is surprisingly lacking and these minions will do just fine for basic info. In this case, he would simply have to incapacitate them, and he knew exactly how to do it. It brought back nostalgic memories of the Chuunin Exams.

Once they reached the end of the passageway, he muttered "_Kagemane no jutsu_!" Once he felt the familiar snag of three shadows, he threw a single smoke bomb. He proceeded walk a few steps forward and then to throw his head forward in a violent motion. Three cracks of the skull sounded against the hard stone, and they slumped to the ground.

Breaking apart the seal, Shikamaru released the jutsu and stealthily stepped over and checked their pulses and their eyelids. After confirming the whites of their eyes, he plucked their respective wands out of their hands and rummaged through their robes in search of additional weapons. There were none.

"How... why... ?" stammered Mr. Ollivander. He had cast away his Disillusionment Charm and was stumbling towards the unconscious Death Eaters.

"How in Merlin's beard?" he finally managed to choke out. "You knocked out three Death Eaters!" His wand was held shakily in his hand, producing a few blue sparks in his shock. Shikamaru dismissed it nonchalantly.

"A simple spell and the right moves was all I needed, sir. Most people would be capable." He shrugged. "In any case, Mr. Ollivander, these men were clearly after you. From what motive, it cannot be discerned but you must escape at once. It is not safe for you here."

The wise man, just seconds ago reduced to quakes and twitches, immediately altered his demeanor and straightened himself to protest.

"No! My wands, my workshop: I cannot abandon them!" His slouched shoulders broadened, the trembling in his fingertips stopped, and he placed a firm stance on the worn floor. His eyes changed at the mention of his work and were now shining with fierce determination. Shikamaru noticed the grip on his wand tightened and was angled slightly higher: to him.

"The wands are of no importance to them, sir. They want you, most likely for your knowledge of wandlore," he reasoned. Voldemort was definitely searching for more knowledge in order to claim more power. From that angle, he was as much Ravenclaw as he was Slytherin. If he managed to acquire this valuable source of wandlore, the amount of damage would be devastating towards the side of the Light. The specific knowledge he is seeking is, unfortunately, still undetermined.

"No. Do you see the number of wands here? I have spent my entire _life _making these, and so have my forefathers. They are the fruit of my knowledge and of the efforts of my ancestry." Mr. Ollivander had not moved from his stance. However, his expression grew more daunt and accusing by the minute. Negotiating was not a strong suit of Shikamaru's; he left that business to the Black Ops.

"It is your life that we need to preserve." He felt like he was attempting to carve stone with rubber; the wandmaker's stubborn voice stood absolute.

"If I leave, they will come again to search. They will trash my workshop, snap the wands, burn down my shop!" The bloodcurdling screams outdoors were continuous, and had never paused since the attack began. A brutal crash levelled a store closer than he would have liked. Help was desperately needed outside.

"What use is it to them to do so? Wands are valuable and destruction will not aid He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in his battle." His mission report had stated to not draw attention to himself at the same time as protecting the innocent. Lives were a clear priority, therefore he decided swiftly to aid the battle outside as discreetly as he could once he finishes the debate at the present situation.

"It is his followers who revel in blood and gore! They relish the burning smell of wood, the sounds of dying men, the taste of blood! It is amusing, it is _entertainment_ to watch a man get tortured. It is double joy for them to destroy and feel the satisfying crunch of debris. They will destroy my shop! That which is even older than my great-grandfather! Do you think that I would simply stand by while they eliminate my heritage? While they _trample _on my entire ancestral history and family culture?!" He had snapped. His withered hands clutched at his balding head and was marching back and forth. Another crash. The volume of the cries increased though they were still muffled against the fogged windows. Shikamaru could smell burning wood and even the unmistakable stench of raw acid.

"We can put charms and seals on it. Surely you know advanced wards." Suddenly, the chuunin picked up a very familiar, but unwelcoming odour: the scent of blood. Like salty metal, the tang sliced through the air and his hair bristled. Mr. Ollivander didn't notice. Whether it is because he is lost in a rage or whether his senses are not sensitive enough to be stimulated, he wouldn't know.

"They are not enough. They will come." Then, a break. His tone changed like the magnetic sides of the poles. "Why would you want me so desperately to escape?" With the rousing suspicion sprouting in his consciousness, the shinobi understood that he could not push the man any further. His roots were planted firmly at the heart of his store, and no amount of convincing would be able to displace them. Additionally, any potential accusations were to be averted at all costs.

"As you wish Mr. Ollivander. But you must avoid capture. The wizarding world cannot afford to lose their best wandmaker," he said urgently.

"Flattery won't work now boy," he growled.

"You cannot abandon your wands." The old man twitched madly when his own statement was turned against him and he glared furiously. Enemies should not be made in a new environment: a regrettable mistake but the screams were setting his nerves on end. It sounded harsh, but the wizarding world was in war, and in war, there was no room for mercy.

"Mr. Ollivander, you should cast some defenses on your shop, as to prevent pilfering and potential damage." He looked darkly back, but grudgingly did so. As he stumbled up the stairs to the second floor landing, Shikamaru pulled out a good length of rope from the delves of his vest. Unravelling the coil, he wound it tightly around the unconscious men and placed a basic seal on one layer of the several that bound them. Just to restrict their movements slightly more. Additionally, he tied a strong knot at the end of the rope for extra measure.

Creaky footsteps announced the arrival of the wandmaker. His figure slumped, leaning against a rickety wandshelf to his left.

Shikamaru rose swiftly and silently in response.

* * *

The musty odour gradually dissipated as he approached the door, leaving behind an angry and frowning wandmaker. He had no choice. He was forced to leave Mr. Ollivander with his own shop and his grudging promise to call the Ministry to collect the criminals. At the moment, there were more people suffering from the large-scaled disaster exploding outside. He took a deep breath and braced himself for a war scene.

* * *

_henge - _transformation technique (basic ninja technique the allows the user to transform into an inanimate object or another person)

_Kagemane no Justu_ - shadow imitation technique (the shadow takes a hold of the opponent's shadow and enables the user to control the opponent's movements)

I chose his wand elements by searching the different types of wood and cores on Pottermore.

AN: Thank you guys sooooo much for reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of them sincerely =)

If you read this and your first reaction was : "What? I waited 2 months for this?" The reason being that I am actually stuck with the technicalities of the second part. Everything else is written out, and originally, I wanted to post an 8000 word chapter! You guys have been very patient though, and I didn't want to make you wait any longer, so here's 5500 words.

Unfortunately, I have more bad news. I have discovered that I am a very slow writer unless I am in a "writing mood" and am therefore, very unproductive. School is back, along with deadlines, but I will still try my best in writing. The next chapter will come eventually...

Hope you enjoyed! Please Review =P


	4. Attack of Diagon Alley (Part Two)

AN: And here it is! Chapter 4: _The Attack of Diagon Alley- Part 2 =)_

* * *

Though it resembled a ghost town before, at the very least, it was orderly. Now, any trace of it had vanished and was replaced with sheer catastrophe. Flames lashed out venomously and hungrily devoured the frail wood of the buildings. A shop about 10 metres down was smashed to bits: levelling it would have been kinder. The masses that littered the ground varied from splintered wood to broken merchandise and the few that retained their optimistic sparkle were ruthlessly crushed in the stampede of oncoming Death Eaters, jeering and cackling. Often, one would raise a wand and a barrage of curses and jinxes would ensue, showering down on the unfortunate object or person that had fallen into their path.

No one in the Alley could say that they didn't expect it. With the recent announcement of the Rise of the Dark Lord, the raids were bound to start happening. As a famous venue, it was more of a shock that Diagon Alley wasn't attacked sooner. Shikamaru stealthily emerged from the confines of _Ollivander's_ to blend into his shadows, amplified by the widespread fires. Step after step, he hurried along the shops, stopping often to use his shadows to drag out unconscious bodies jammed amidst the blistering wreckage. He only advanced with the sole goal of saving as many lives as he could, scanning the streets for potential trouble, intently tracking the cries that spread throughout the Alley and tracing the distinct stench of blood and burnt skin.

The remaining civilians in the streets have all disappeared, presumably to Disapparate or to use the nearest fireplace. All that was left were a couple of feeble shopkeepers, hiding in their stores to set up enchantments and the like with the hopes of waiting out this vicious attack. The chuunin avoided walking on debris as much as he could, and sprinted along a dark wide passageway until he heard a bold shout. He peered through the clear gap in a fence and saw a bright tapestry and a fresh white deck. A simple sign read "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour" in curvy green letters. The entire store was miraculously unscathed, clearly due to the efforts of the man in front.

"Don't you dare come near my shop!" Arm raised and wand alit, a short man marched away from Shikamaru and towards the lithe group gathered at the vicinity. His retreating back was donned in ruffled robes, as if he suddenly sprang out of his hiding place to defend his shop.

"I've built it all my life. You might trash all the other stores, but I won't stand for this!" It seemed as though the man, or Mr. Fortescue, was barely keeping his knees from wobbling; he wasn't the type to stand up Shikamaru supposed. If he himself owned a shop, he wouldn't even bother; he'd let the Death Eaters destroy all they want while he waited elsewhere. Standing up alone had a very low chance of success, especially if you don't have the strength to back it up. And it's too troublesome.

"As if!" jeered a woman. She had a wide sneer stretched upon her face and she held up her wand as well. Another man strode forward confidently, and with a deep rumbling voice, he spoke.

"We will not destroy your shop if you accompany us. The Dark Lord has cordially requested your presence. Be honoured."

"Ha! As if!" he repeated back, almost tauntingly. "That's even worse! It's the last thing I would ever do!" A few shifting feet, a few rustling robes, and the rest of the wands were raised. By the looks of it, Mr. Fortescue's impulsive burst of courage was knocked to the floor by reality. He seemed to sense their violent and possibly bloodthirsty intentions and visibly shrunk. As an inexperienced man in terms of battle, he was very vulnerable to his attackers and was not in any shape to fight, much less defend himself by the looks of his trembling knees. Shikamaru had to act; it was either now or deal with the consequences.

"_Kagemane no jutsu!_" His shadow climbed through the gap and zipped past the shop to shoot directly at the shopkeeper. Mr. Fortescue seized up and whimpered helplessly at the loss of mobile control just as the hooded Death Eater hissed.

"Then it shall be." He slashed his wand through the air and was quickly mimicked by the five behind him. Shikamaru responded by dropping his body to the ground and dodging the streams of light fired at Mr. Fortescue. Perhaps he should thank his dad for forcing him to do all this body manipulation training; it turned out to be useful after all. To the eyes of the Death Eaters, the man was running around efficiently to avoid the bright beams in a way any skilled dualist would be able to do. The lasers slammed into the shop behind him and he cried out.

"No no! My shop! My life!" With all his strength, it was clear that the man was attempting to fight the strange restriction placed upon him. Surprisingly, the resistance was quite strong - as strong as a high-levelled chuunin - and Shikamaru concluded that it was the result of Mr. Fortescue's magic. Rather than to waste his chakra, he turned fast, climbed over an imaginary gap and ran deeper into the back alley, leading Mr. Fortescue in it as well. As soon as he slipped out of the Death Eaters' sight, Shikamaru released the jutsu and sent a _henged _golden-haired _kage bunshin_ to calm the shopkeeper down and explain his alliances. He swiftly performed another _henge_ to transform into the Death Eaters' victim and ran out the other side of the building to make it seem like a distraction or a change of scene. No one but himself would be any wiser.

When he emerged noisily at the left of the shop, he saw the Death Eaters already halfway to the shop, chasing after the original Mr. Fortescue. With his loud entrance, the leader quickly reacted and shot a beam of light his way. Naturally, he dodged, diving behind the pile of splintered boxes he spotted earlier. With a nifty scroll he kept in his breast pocket, he activated a temporary barrier to give himself at least a minute of time to think.

In this magical environment, Shikamaru had to consider his anonymity in this mission as well as his lack of skill in the magical domain. He highly doubted that the Death Eaters would notice his lack of a wand though, especially if he hid behind the boxes. Putting his fingertips together in his signature thinking pose, his sat down with his eyes closed while the wood and his surroundings took the spell damage.

Judging by their reaction, this particular group of Death Eaters seem to favour the offensive since they had made no attempt to stop their barrage of spells despite his lack of response. Or, they thought that he had placed a trap that will activate if they navigate towards his side. Perhaps they were cautious, seeing as they preferred to stay at a standstill rather than to risk losing the offensive. There was also the fact that they might simply be hoping to blast the boxes to smithereens, taking him along with it. In conclusion, they were either brawny brutes or cautious tacticians. Either way, he had to check before he proceeded to the subsequent step.

The chunnin picked up a reasonably sized rock close to his right foot, tossed it up and down to approximate its weight, then threw it towards the other side. He counted his lucky stars when they all raised their wands towards the potential threat and shot another bombardment of curses at it, in which only one succeeded in hitting it. Afterwards, they simply restarted their onslaught on his little wooden fortress.

None of them even paused to consider the meaning of that projectile, and considering that it could have been an explosive, it would have been wiser to set up a protective charm to defend against the blast instead of initiating it. They didn't even consider it with a second thought and simply maintained their poor aim in an attempt to curse him. Brawny brutes it is.

First of all, he had to take away their wands. Wizards and witches were powerful since they had no limitations beyond their ability to do spells. Without their wands however, they were powerless; they couldn't even Apparate. Second of all, he intended to keep this group for the authorities (however inadequate they may be) for interrogation purposes. For the moment, his place in this world was simply to protect and not to interfere with all the political mumbo jumbo. Moreover, he was supposed to keep a low profile (for which he had multiple disguises throughout his shopping trip gone awry). Intel was an essential aspect to winning in war. Plus, the subjects did not need to be perfect health to be questioned.

Feeling the power of the barrier weakening, he rapidly formed the rat and bird seal then murmured, "_Kage Nui no Jutsu!_" The thick threads wove on the ground unbeknownst to the wizards and witch, still purposelessly firing spells. In an instant, they shot up, piercing through the hands and arms of all the Death Eaters. Their screams echoed, adding to the colourful chorus already present. And of course, they all dropped their wands. With a hole in your arm, how could you not?

In quick succession, he focused his chakra and swept the shadowy tendrils towards him, bringing all six scattered wands towards him. Shikamaru collected the sticks quickly, gathering them in his vest pocket and looked back at his opponents. It seemed that the Death Eaters were unused to pain; they were clutching desperately at their arms, swearing profusely with sweat adorning their brows. Their eyes were crinkled in contorted expressions of agony, writhing on the ground helplessly. Knowing not to drop his guard in the middle of his combo, he quickly continued to the next stage. He speedily performed the seals: dragon, tiger and rat. Muttering under his breath, he announced, "_Kubishibari no Justu!_" His trusty shadows slinked across the field in the confusion and wound itself along each of the six Death Eaters, encasing their necks in darkness as it choked their air tunnels.

"What kind of spell is this?!" one managed to yell out.

"My wand, my wand!" cried another helplessly.

Clasping his hands fiercely in the seal, he mustered his remaining chakra and forced with all his strength against the magical resistance he was faced with. Seconds ticked by, sweat rolled down his brow and he was increasingly aware of his depleting chakra levels. Fighting against wizards was more tiring than he initially thought, but he had to admit that their magical defense was impressive. His _Kage Bunshin_ didn't poof away so he needn't worry about Mr. Fortescue's dissent. With the decreasing resistance, he could feel the Death Eaters losing consciousness: their clawing hands slackened, they collapsed to the ground as their legs thrashed uselessly, their pulse waned with every pump, and finally their eyes rolled back to the darkness of their mind.

The chuunin crumpled with a great sigh. How he managed to maintain his _henge _under the strain, he did not know, even though he hid out of sight in the likelihood that he wouldn't. Taking a few seconds for a breather, he stumbled out towards the group of now unconscious Death Eaters.

Once again, he confirmed their state of consciousness with the whites of their eyes (standard procedure was hammered into him by Iruka-sensei even though he already knew, having felt their pulses weaken with his shadows), tied them up securely with a seal and then went to find Mr. Fortescue, making sure to transform into his clone's appearance.

He found the shop keeper dishevelled and disoriented, barely keeping himself together in a small clump behind his shop. His kage bunshin acknowledged his presence with a slight inclination a the head and disappeared with a poof of white smoke. Immediately, his clone's activities during his absence flooded his head: him explaining the use of an illusion spell to create this "hallucination", calming down the frantic Mr. Fortescue, answering enigmatically to the shopkeeper's questions, and then finally poofing away as the original approached.

"Mr. Fortescue, are you alright?"

"I'll be in good time, my boy. But, if I may ask, who are you, exactly?"

"Just a good samaritan, sir." he answered lightly, repeating his clone's exact words. His new golden curls framed his face messily and his teal irises reflected in the emerging sun. Mr Fortescue's body seemed to have been holding out all this time just to see his rescuer. Once his exhaustion took over, he simply collapsed into a heap. Glad that his clone took care of the troublesome Q&A portion, he lugged up the older man's body, draping one arm over his shoulder. He carefully brought him back to the front of the shop, and laid him at the foot of the entrance.

This sector of the region seemed to be strangely empty, save his previous brawl with the small group. From the events that had already occurred, it seemed that Voldemort was using the attack as a distraction while he wheedled out important sources of information, two of which being Mr. Fortescue and Mr. Ollivander. Since Mr. Fortescue had already passed out, he could not ask him for his specialty, which was definitely not making ice cream. He could only assume that Voldemort was gathering information on advanced magic to strengthen his skills, his army or his life.

Suddenly, his heightened senses picked out a distinct whistling, like the trajectory of a fresh firecracker. Sharply angling his head up, he spotted just in time a great cascade of green sparks. It discharged with a magnificent bang, and promptly succeeding it was a series of strong _cracks_ - the sound that preceded the entire attack: Apparition. The distant cries were all that was left in the stifling atmosphere, and yet with the loss of the cursing and the explosions, it left a weighted silence.

* * *

Lord Voldemort sat comfortably in his onyx throne, drenched in the ominous green glow of the magical fires. He was waiting patiently in majestic hall, adorned with glittering stones, underneath a great mansion. It was unlike him to be in this particular state of mind, however he was highly anticipating the return of his troops as well as the assigned captives. Once he gathered all his game pieces, he will be able to continue his journey to everlasting power.

There were several members of the Inner Circle standing stilly beside him, nervously keeping the tense quiescence. In his mind, Voldemort silently congratulated them for not fidgeting in spite of the restlessness they were certainly feeling.

A line smoothly curved upwards on his face and he was met with the delicate clicking of scales on stone. The subtle hissing of Nagini came closer and he raised a finger, enticing her to him. Her head raised off the floor and her tongue flicked out swiftly. Her coloured irises stared back into his and he spoke in Parseltongue.

"Soon Nagini, they shall come. And perhaps, along with dinner." As if on cue, a chorus of _cracks_ sounded followed by the swishing of dark capes. The hall was now filled, its slick grey stone covered in black fabric. At once, the three highest ranking members came forward, supposedly with the captured and the capturers. A dense anger flickered in his eyes; they had only managed to seize two.

"My Lord, we brought Ollivander and Wicern," the first reported hastily, falling to a low bow.

The second one mirrored the first and, quick to accuse, bitterly spat out, "Petrilov failed. I had to go rescue his group and to get Ollivander for him. Don't know why it was a problem, Ollivander was weak. _My_ group captured him without a problem."

The third spoke nervously, already in a bow, "Rosier captured Wicern easily enough though. He gave up without trying."

The three wisely kept their heads bowed as Voldemort mulled over their words. He rose noiselessly and stepped purposefully towards the quivering hostages, his long thin fingers touching his wand of yew. The two figures were slumped on the ground to the left of the group, with all their limbs magically bound with a strong charm. Ollivander was in a state of disbelief, his eyes staring fixedly at the floor, while Wicern was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"Avery," he said, addressing the second, "Do you mean to tell me, that Ollivander had defeated Petrilov and his group single handedly?"Avery halted and his defiance died a little in the face of his master's words. He raised his head and looked quizzically at Petrilov over his shoulder.

"Um, why not?" He regretted uttering the phrase as soon as it left his mouth.

"Though Ollivander is a skilled wandmaker, he is not a formidable opponent in duelling. Surely you would have realized since he was so _weak_." Voldemort flicked his wand smoothly and his victim was thrown forcefully into a nearby pillar, suffering by his careless mistake. He would surely learn to subdue his insolence in his master's presence.

He took a pause to slowly swivel his red irises to stare directly into Petrilov's wavering eyes. Round beads of moisture were forming on his forehead.

"So, _do_ tell Petrilov," he ennunciated languidly, "How _exactly_ did you fail?"

"My Lord!" he cried, flinging himself to the floor shamefully, "I didn't see a thing! I heard someone whisper a spell and then I couldn't move! I was paralysed and then I saw this grey ball and it made a smokescreen! And then my body started moving by itself! The person was controlling me! I tried to resist but it all happened so fast! I was panicking and couldn't think straight! Anyone would have, right? I walked forward, and then I threw my head in front and it collided with the wall! I was knocked unconscious by slamming my head into the wall! By myself! I was controlled! I couldn't -"

"Enough." The syllables rang clear throughout the hall, stifling his disgraceful rambling. At the very least, he had the sense to quieten his sobs. However, Voldemort didn't tolerate this deplorable sight and with his failure, he was only waiting to be punished.

"_Crucio._" The man twisted and shrieked, rolling in his own sweat. The pain deformed his features; both the agony and the lesson were clearly felt by the silent watchers, immersed deeply in the shadows.

He dismissed him without a second glance.

"Begone." Petrilov got to his feet despite the stinging pain that remained, and scrambled away clumsily to an adjacent meeting room.

He redirected his gaze at Ollivander, who had came out of his daze from the screams pounding his eardrums.

"You couldn't have thought of that strategy. And a spell that controls a person's movements, but without the dream-like symptoms of the Imperius... Very intriguing indeed." He finished his musings with a sadistic smile, then pointed the wandmaker's own creation against himself.

Immediately, the images of an unshielded mind played swiftly through his mind's eye: a muscular fifth year, with a slight mustache, coming in to buy a wand, his strange hesitation when trying the wand despite his supposed experience with it, his correct prediction of the Death Eaters' ambush, him confidently dealing with the dangerous intruders alone and tying them up with a strange spell as an extra precaution even though they were already unconscious. The young teen clearly wasn't who he said he was. He was capable of forming a clever strategy in the midst of battle with no difficulty and seemed to understand well the mechanisms of war. It was also extremely likely that he had glamour spells cast on him. Unfortunately, he also seemed to have a good set of morals to help a man instead of running away or doing nothing. Who, or what, is he?

Voldemort turned back to face the three members of the Inner Circle.

"Avery." By this time, he had crawled back to his place with his head dipped in a bow.

"What was the spell that bound Petrilov and his group?"

"Yes, my Lord. It was a strange spell that I have never met before. Eventually, we managed to take it down in the same way someone would take down a ward."

There were not many wizards who knew the theory behind wards, let alone cast them. This wizard, or whatever he may be, had the ability to cast it quickly and effectively between the times Ollivander went up and down the stairs. Interesting, however this man would have to be killed. Such a brilliant and righteous mind would obstruct his paths in the future.

He slowly paced some more, allowing the heels of his shoes to click articulately on the stone. He paused and narrowed his scarlet slits.

"And where," he whispered clearly, "is Fortescue?" It was obvious that they knew this question was coming, but they flinched regardless.

"Where is the group that was sent to capture them?"

"They never returned, my Lord," stammered the first.

"What! What happened to them?!" Voldemort's sibilant voice pressed down on the questioned, bearing an intense pressure.

"We don't know, my Lord," said the third. "They never reported back after they went to get Fortescue."

"And you, Mulciber," hissed Voldemort, glaring at the third. "Were you not the one responsible for the capture of Fortescue?!"

"Yes, my Lord. However, the Ministry was coming so we couldn't wait any longer. We had to leave." As if abruptly realizing the danger he was in, he threw himself at his feet and cried.

"Please my Lord! Spare me! Have mercy!" His sniveling form was repulsive to say the least.

Without a trace of humanity, Voldemort hissed with contempt, "_Crucio_."

The jet of red light shot mercilessly to the shaking form.

His screams echoed in the dark hall.

* * *

_Kage Nui no Jutsu - _Shadow Sewing technique

_Kubishibari no Justu_ - Shadow strangulation technique

AN: Hope you guys liked it! ^^ If you did, and especially if you didn't, please review =)

Thank you very very very much for reviewing! I take every one into heart =) They are also the best type of motivation ;)

As you can see, I saved Florean Fortescue from his demise. I wanted Shikamaru to make a difference without altering the storyline _too_ much, but we'll see if that changes in the future. So he tried to help Ollivander, but he was too stubborn...  
There's controversy as to whether or not a wizard can Apparate without a wand. For the purposes of this story, I decided that they are not capable of doing so.

From now on, I'll try to post it every month (max). Last week was a horrendous week of tests, and auditions are coming up soon! But I will post it within a month.


	5. Studying Magic

AN:Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! Every single one is deeply cherished. I would like to hear your opinions!

So I've got a lighter chapter up (though there's a dark flashback in the middle), to take a break from the action. It shows the casual side of Shikamaru I suppose. Also, its about time to acknowledge how I'm going to explain chakra and magic together as one.

* * *

The light pierced through the cotton blinds, illuminating the suspended pieces of dust floating in the air. They fell gently to the worn wooden floor, gouged in several places. A small bag was deposited at the corner of a grand four poster bed, upon which rumpled blankets hid a big lump. The few pieces of plain furniture in the room were spaciously placed, and were all made of an ancient oak. All in all, the dingy room was decently kept and simple... except for one nook. In the farthest corner away from the bed, sat an ostentatious display, as if the insides of a magical store were puked out into a cauldron. Standard quills with matted feathers stuck out at odd angles and rolls of parchment were stuck in randomly in available spaces. Black school robes were spilling out onto the floor, covering the entire left side of the new cauldron. Peeking out from beneath the folds were objects that suspiciously corresponded to the shapes of a telescope and a set of scales. A couple of vials here and there were precariously balanced, and one might wonder how the rest of the supplies weren't doused in potion ingredients. But the worst of all were the books- whether they were open, flipped, torn or folded, the complete assortment was present in the overflowing cauldron. The books formed a quivering pile so unsteady yet high, it resembled the leaning tower of Pisa.

A figure stirred on the bed. The shinobi's eyes blearily opened and he blinked. He sluggishly pulled himself up into an upright position, his back still stuck in a permanent slouch. He looked at the grumpy clock that he managed to set last night, with persuasive words no less. He watched as the second hand ticked, ticked, ticked and struck six o'clock. Abruptly, the screechy voice started to cry out: "Get up you lazy bum! Get up! It's six already! What are you still doing in bed! Get up!" On and on it went, adding some more colourful language to its monologue as he stared dully at its wrinkled face.

He didn't know why he even bothered. Just like everything that was determined to make things difficult for him, naturally last night the clock made a stubborn argument with all the reasons why (he didn't know there were that many reasons to begin with) it shouldn't wake him up. After half an hour of arguing with the stupid clock, it finally agreed to give him a wake up call at six in the morning. He was surprised that he even went through all that trouble to set it. And of course, he woke up before it. Oh, the universe sure loved to mock him. At least, it decided to throw him in a magical world where he could turn off the clock without walking all the way over to the bedside table.

"Look, I'm up. Now shut it."

"Make me." Never mind. It seems that trouble eagerly sought the laziest of people, AKA, him- Nara Shikamaru: lazy genius extraordinaire.

And he hadn't even begun to delve into the terrifying depths of the immense-tower-of-doom in the corner. Everything about it screamed "Work!" and it was sure to bring him lots of grief. However, this grief would certainly be preferred to the grief found at home, also called the Fifth Hokage, if he didn't deal with the monstrous pile-that-might-eat-him.

Bringing back the entire load however, was a piece of cake. At the very start of his shopping journey, he had bought a simple bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm as well as a Feather Light Charm cast upon it- a brown-cloth drawstring bag that had cost 20 Galleons, but he had felt it was well beyond its worth for a lethargic guy like him. One after another, he had placed all the items on the school list inside, and it was still as light as its skinny appearance. The consequences were apparent when he decided to unpack the easy way and flipped the bag upside down: its contents were dumped unceremoniously onto the floor with a loud thump, yet miraculously still upright. Its drastic display was due to Shikamaru lazily throwing in every single item without caring to organize the insides and the result was the mountain-of-horrendous-affairs sitting innocently in the corner. Luckily, he had purchased the cauldron first, but everything else was jammed inside in chronological order.

First and foremost, breakfast. With as little movement as humanely possible, he got up, took care of morning business, and got dressed. He then proceeded to "turn off" the alarm, who was still yelling as loudly as it could to annoy him, with a brutally frank death threat. It shut up with a satisfyingly audible click of its teeth (clocks have teeth?). Shrugging up his vest onto his shoulders, he opened the room door and locked it from the outside with the extremely rusted green key. He trotted lightly down the creaky stairs and was met with the repetitive squeak of rag on glass. The entire bar was empty except for Tom, who was still wiping what seemed like the same mug as the last time he saw him, as well as with the same dirty ol'rag. Beyond the inn windows, the sun was peeking beautifully over the horizon, though it wasn't like he could see the bright blend of colours through the filthy frosted glass.

"M-m-morning," yawned Tom. Shikamaru nodded in response, if one would call that fractional gesture a nod. Neither of them were morning people so Shikamaru was served his breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice) in silence, which he also ate in silence. The awkwardness of the situation was left alone; they respected each other's attitudes as fellow night owls. As he crunched on the oily bacon, he picked up the textured paper of day's edition of the local wizard newspaper: The Daily Prophet. In bold and literally flashing letters, were the headlines: "DIAGON ALLEY ATTACKED!" And as a subtitle, in slightly smaller font: "Ollivander Missing! Several Dead!" The black and white picture accompanying the story was depicting a scene of Death Eaters firing spells just beyond the brick wall. He let out a weighty breath as he recalled the previous day's events and he absent-mindedly felt the six distinct bumps in his vest pocket.

* * *

After carefully depositing Mr. Fortescue at the foot of his own door, Shikamaru swiftly _henged_ into a middle aged father-type disguise with a set of decent navy blue robes and a full head of russet hair. He straightened up and manoeuvred his way curiously through the crackling fires, with the guise of just having Apparated into this mess. He also kept his new wand, even though he had no knowledge of how to use it, in his right hand and proceeded through the burnt streets.

The shop owners and the few civilians that had stayed were waving their wands here and there. It seemed so easy: collapsed buildings were steadily reforming, burnt structures were regaining their original form, and the colourful shards of merchandise were flying back to their original forms. He watched, mesmerized, as a witch effortlessly healed injuries as if her wand was pulling an invisible zipper on the wound. He stared enviously at their display of power and thought back to the tales his father told him about the Third Shinobi World War. Several small villages were destroyed, including the unfortunate Amegakure, and repairing the levelled houses and deep craters took months at the very least. The little number of survivors able to help with reconstruction were quickly exhausted since a good half of them were needed at the hospital to help the high percentage of those critically wounded. The gains of the war is always exceeded by the losses and the vast majority of the nations were stuck in the hospital for recuperation: only if they survived. The large amount of wounded shinobi were the lucky ones; they had survived hell on earth. The deaths filled Konoha's Memorial Stone with names but not all of them got a proper burial; several bodies were never found, greatly increasing the families' grief.

The chuunin recognized a couple of the badly burnt unconscious that he pulled out of the fires. Medi-wizards were pouring a strange brown liquid down their throat while muttering a string of words under their breath. Before his eyes, the red and bleeding skin closed up and a new healthy layer of skin formed. Within seconds, the man was healed without the distinct scarring he should have received from the severe burns. With a light tap of the mahogany wand to his forehead, his eyes fluttered open and he pushed himself up to a sitting position, rubbing his forehead in confusion. If it was chakra that healed him, he would definitely be scarred and he would have stayed in a coma for several weeks at least. It was as if magic was limitless. Its only weakness was the required medium, or a wand, that was necessary to do spellwork. But even so, there are endless cases of accidental magic; whether or not someone has managed to control these emotional bouts of wandless magic however, is an entirely different case.

Without realizing it, he had reverted to his old habit of daydreaming while walking and he was already at the door of 's shop. He was just about to knock when his eyes froze at a quaint sign on the door: Closed. It was noon, the middle of the day, and his shop is closed. There were only two possible solutions: Mr. Ollivander decided to rest for the rest of the day due to fatigue _or_ the Death Eaters captured him and cleaned up the mess. Unfortunately, with the great passion that Mr. Ollivander had for his store and his work, it was most likely the latter. Shikamaru strode over to frosted glass and looked in. Not a single sign of a struggle, and of course, the Death Eaters were gone. The Ministry officials have just arrived not a minute ago therefore it would have been impossible for them to have picked up the captured in this short period of time. The sigh of unsaid words escaped his lips; he simply pivoted lightly on his right foot and left the empty wand shop in his wake, not even looking back once.

* * *

The chuunin navigated through the many dazed stragglers in the street while dodging the flying bits of building and finally arrived at his destination: Flourish and Blotts. The exterior of the proud and tall store had already been restored to its former glory. As he peered in the pristine window, he saw the bespectacled manager waving his wand and guiding the last of the fallen books to their original places. The chuunin waited until the wand was shuffled up the sleeve and the manager had let out a contented sigh, before he pushed open the squeaky clean glass door.

"Hello, Mr. Blotts is it? I'm terribly sorry to intrude, however I would like to buy a very large quantity of books." Shikamaru stepped up timidly to the counter with his hands interlocking, nervously shifting back and forth. As a shinobi, he had learned how to portray many different characters. It was essential especially when tracking someone with several different disguises during a reconnaissance mission. He looked up to the too-tired-to-care eyes of the shop owner, who mustered up all his energy to respond kindly.

"Of course. Though I should be the one apologizing. Even with incidents such as today's, there will still be people needing to buy books." A small spark seemed to light a fire within his eyes.

"I must maintain my store's good reputation. What do you need?" he asked with a genuine smile. He stood taller and walked out from behind to the many bookshelves to his right.

"Since it's this time of year, I can only assume that you're buying school books, am I right?"

"Right you are," the shinobi replied with a smile. "Actually, I need a great deal of books - here is my list..." Once he uttered those words, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a very crumpled piece of yellow parchment. With every book he read, the manager's face simply got paler and paler.

* * *

The memory of Mr. Blotts' awestruck face prompted him to release a light chuckle in the dense atmosphere. The abrupt sound invited Tom to raise his head from his never-ending task and to turn his gaze to the only customer in the bar. Shikamaru raised a rough hand in apology and stood up, grasping The Daily Prophet in the other. He muttered a quick thank you and proceeded to travel back up to the second landing. With a swift click and a turn of the knob, he was, once again, back in the shabby room with the pile-of-magically-dangerous-items. With some food in his system, he was in considerably lighter spirits, so perhaps now he would have the courage to tackle the tough opponent, still sitting in the corner (as if he expected it to pick itself up and leave).

Once he approached it, he wearily reached out for the hard-bound books that were in any shape but perfect. One after another, the Nara managed to uniformly pluck out every single one without breaking any vials, splitting any quills, ripping any parchment, damaging any equipment or tearing any robes. He called that a victory well-won; he didn't even think that he had the patience in him to handle that particular job.

Just to make the next part easier, he organized all the books into groups, in a table-like format. Years one to six as the rows, and the subjects as the column. To start with the basic of the basics, he pulled out the Standard Book of Spells: Grade One, and he read.

As quick as a flash, half an hour had passed and he set down the red tome. A most boring read with only spell names, their characteristics and their uses, though it opened his eyes to the types of things magic was able to accomplish. Pulling out his sequoia wand, he held it gingerly in his hand. Upon contact, he could already feel the magic, no, the nature chakra coursing into his body. He was not capable of seeing it, but the amount of strength that it brought was evident. Now grasping the wand more firmly in his right hand, he started his magical training, first starting with the illumination spell: Lumos.

He shut his eyelids and breathed deeply: in and out, in and out. With clear articulation, he announced, "_Lumos!_" and directed the chakra to the wood in his hand, just as he would if he were to stick to a surface with his hands. The result was a great explosion and heavy ashen fumes erupted from the tip of his wand. He was blown off his feet and his body collided painfully with the grimy wallpaper.

"Ugh..." he breathed, rubbing the bruised side of his head. His unscathed wand still remained in his clutches though wisps of grey were smoking from its tip.

"What happened...?" Since it was a beginner's book, there was nothing in there to explain the intricate mechanisms of a wand nor the flow of magic. He had no data whatsoever to decipher the blast that had just occurred. And so he had no other choice but to try again, and with less chakra.

Once again, he said, "_Lumos!_" Unluckily for the shinobi, the spell blew up in his face, knocking him backwards, but he didn't quite reach the wall. He simply skidded across the floor and landed in a heap. At this point, he kind of wished that he had a teacher of some sort to tell him the answer. But alas, he had none.

He pulled himself out of the slump into an upright position and thought. He had used significantly less chakra the second time, yet there was still an explosion. The book said nothing about performing the spell but the correct pronunciation of the word. There were no wand movements either. Perhaps... there was nothing more to it? After all, fresh new students had no knowledge or training in chakra; they wouldn't know how to control the flow. It was very probable that these wands were designed to enable easy control over nature chakra.

With this new thought in mind, he climbed to his feet and raised his spotless wand.

"_Lumos._" And just as if he had turned on a light, the tip of the wand flickered on. Looking down at his accomplishment, the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile. Perhaps this won't be so difficult after all.

* * *

A mission was a mission and, in his opinion, he had already successfully completed half of this one. Though it was only a month and a half out of eleven, he had managed to study everything up till sixth year magic. The thick tomes, now thoroughly flipped through and used sat heavily in a corner, almost as if they were as exhausted as he was. Beside it lay a clean cauldron, various pillows (which suffered many different transfigurations and spells) repaired with _Reparo_, parchment and quills.

Through all the effort he had spent, Shikamaru had linked all the different subjects to the chakra principles that he was very familiar with.

Herbology was quite straightforward. A quick read through the five textbooks and he was pretty much set. It was just a bunch of vocabulary and a detailed how to take care of plants, wizard style. There was no need to elaborate further on it. Unfortunately, he had no plants to practice on so he had to do with only reading and imagination training (little did he know, the plants he imagined were nothing compared to the devilishly violent attacks of the real ones.)

Spells in general, which accounted for both Charms and Defense against Dark Arts, were easy enough to perform. The key was exact movements and correct pronunciation; if you messed up either, the spell wouldn't work with varying consequences. Mastering this bit wasn't too difficult though, compared to the complicated jutsus and the tough training back at Konoha.

Transfiguration however, was more similar to jutsus. It required the user to direct the nature chakra (which would explain the students' difficulties) and to have a particular intent. The user would have to manipulate the chakra into the form of the desired transfigured object, which was quite similar to his shadow jutsus, so he had no problems.

Potions seemed to be very similar to cooking, not that he did it on a regular basis nor was very good at it, and he stumbled across strange theorems that explained the reasons why one ingredient would react with the other or why under particular environmental circumstances or time (ie full moon). Fortunately, the explanations were thorough and enabled him to quickly understand the concepts behind the instructions in brewing. It was really troublesome though - having to read all the extra notes and side comments squished in the margins. From there, he was capable of deriving his own instructions, though they weren't the same as the textbook's. In rare cases, they even worked better than the printed ones! But just to be safe (and not to make anything explode), the procedure to a correct brew was simply to follow the textbook, which really wasn't that hard.

However, as he advanced further into more intermediate magic, most spells required him to have a particular motive, or feeling. He had to genuinely believe in these feelings, otherwise the spell would not work. Not even a single shred of doubt in himself. He learned the hard way after a halfhearted _Avis_ charm conjured some featherless... _Creatures_ may be the only word to describe them. But as long as he did not waver, the spell would be successful.

The shinobi collapsed on his bed and gazed beyond the dusty window. The sun was just beginning to set in a bright splash of crimson. His mind was beyond tired at this point, having studied all those concepts and memorizing all those spells, but physically, he wasn't drained at all. Since magical spells and charms utilized the nature chakra around him, he hadn't used any of his internal chakra stores. It could potentially be useful in future battles.

As his heavy eyelids began to droop, he realized that he would be boarding the scarlet steam engine, the Hogwarts Express, to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. He smirked; that is when his real mission would start.

* * *

AN: For some reason, this chapter was really difficult to write, but this is the way I'm going to portray his use in magic. And he is a genius, so everything came quite easily to him, which would explain his fast speed at learning magic. At school, since it is a part of the mission, he will have to do well. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure he would simply sleep in class, being too lazy to lift a quill or follow instructions.

I apologize for being late, but perhaps I can make up for it being early for the next chapter. It is the long awaited chapter aboard the Hogwarts Express! I hope I can live up to your expectations.

I hope you liked this chapter! Please review =)


	6. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

AN: Hello! I'm sorry I'm such a terrible author. I overestimated myself and couldn't keep the deadline. I think I should stop making these promises... I had to spend the entire day yesterday to finish it. But at least it's an extra long chapter - It's 8500 words!

I never thought that writing would need so much research! I have to constantly check between resources to make sure I got the facts right and everything. But here is the result!

As always, I'd like to thank all the people who took their time to review my story!

* * *

"So troublesome," muttered the irate shinobi as he placed the last scroll into the rustic trunk's hidden compartment. With a quick hand sign, he expelled some chakra and a calligraphic seal blossomed over its cover. After two hours of careful work, Shikamaru had gingerly packed his things for the main part of his mission. Having learned his lesson about disorganization, the only reason he had set about completing such a task is to avoid one that was even more troublesome; he wouldn't want to face another mountainous-pile-of-doom ever again. He heaved another sigh and refocused his gaze to the contents of the trunk. In neat piles and sections were folded robes, organized stationary, cushioned equipment and the drawstring bag full of categorized books. Considering the amount of textbooks that he carried, his trunk was five times lighter just because he used the bag, but unfortunately, he was unable to _only_ use the bag since the other items might might shift during the bumpy train ride and crush the rest; being magically expanded also made it very sensitive. It was a drag, but unavoidable.

The sense of accomplishment was easily overridden by annoyance when he stared at the peaceful clouds outside. Instead of packing, he could have spent the morning cloud-gazing on the roof...

Pushing the thought aside, he took a quick glance at the forever grumpy clock whose face read 10 o'clock. He picked up his hip pouch from the surface of the bed and opened it to double check its contents: kunai, shuriken, sealing and elemental scrolls, smoke and flash bombs as well as explosive tags. Evidently he had plenty of extras in the trunk in a storing scroll, but these were to be by his hand at all times for dire emergencies _only_. But that aside, he cast a Disillusionment charm on it and tied it tightly around his waist so that it was nestled right at his hip. Briefly checking the nooks and crannies in the room to ensure that he didn't forget anything, he heaved up his trunk and left the room in long strides.

Once he reached the main floor, he waved a simple goodbye and thank you to Tom and stepped out into the brisk air outside the musky inn. The bright clear sky was ideal for cloud-gazing, prompting him to slightly miss the familiar atmosphere back at the _unplottable_ Hidden Continents. The sound of rubber on gravel brought his attention to the nearest intersection to his right. Spotting a yellow vehicle making a swift turn onto his street, he stuck out his hand to hail the taxi. It signaled and smoothly closed the gap between the curb and its wheels until it came to a deliberate stop. Pulling open the door, he spoke clearly to the bearded driver: "King's Cross Station."

* * *

Citizens were bustling back and forth, boarding the coming trains and getting off, only to rush away to catch their next bus. He was back at the train station. At the moment, he was resting on a public bench on platform nine, leaning back into the wooden bench and contemplating his next actions. This train ride would be seven hours long, which was optimal to either gather information from different perspectives, or to befriend useful people. The question was, which would be more beneficial? He already had plenty of information regarding his charge: his personality traits, his abilities, and those of his close friends. However, he did not know much about anyone else. Considering the distinct divide between houses, it might be useful to check out the different perspectives on this war from the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and/or Slytherins. Once he was identified as a Gryffindor, the other Houses might not openly or willingly associate themselves with him. Slytherins even more so, since they are acutely separated from the rest. They are also known as the house with the most people acting a part for the 'Dark' side. There was a general mention of the tense animosity between Gryffindors and Slytherins and of a character named Draco Malfoy, but nothing more to it. Since Shikamaru was going to be "sorted" into Gryffindor, he would have absolutely no chance to correspond with the Slytherins. It is true that it would be profitable to build Harry's trust early on, but compared the zero chance he would get to civilly talk to the Slytherins, the first option is definitely more beneficial. As the saying goes: keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer.

Now the problem would be to find a Slytherin, preferably in Harry's year, and to convince them to accept him into their compartment. It was possible to play the "new transfer student = good connections" card. The tricky bit, though, was to subtly manipulate a politically inclined person into thinking this way. It wasn't a strong suit of his, but playing the social game was something that he could decently pass off. Back with Team 10, Ino was much more sociable than he so she would be the one dealing with the friendly political mishmash during missions. Along with the information packet, he was also provided with a list of Harry's classmates. The chuunin closed his eyes and recalled the sixth year Slytherins' faces - names weren't necessary since he wasn't supposed to know them anyways. He leaned his chin into the palm of his hand and stared at the people passing by. So far, he had seen quite a few magical folk, and some of them were sixth year Slytherins. But in any case, he decided to pass through the magical barrier with the rest and look for them on the concealed platform.

He directed his gaze, through the currents of people, to the column dividing platforms 9 and 10. Wracking his mind, according to the immensely thick information packet (which he had already committed to memory and burned), to access the platform nine and three quarters, he had to walk through the barrier marking the divide between platforms nine and ten. However, no matter how fixedly he stared at it from his viewpoint at a resting bench, it just did not seem possible. The red brittle brick seemed, in every aspect, _very_ solid. The data had offered no explanation for the strange phenomenon; it had only left him with instructions on how to get through. He stood up from his seat, picked up his trunk and marched over to the barrier. Not willing to embarrass himself by crashing into the stone wall, he lifted a hand and pressed it against ... nothing. His eyes widened a fraction and his hand disappeared, assumingly onto the destined platform. Well, it was most likely an intricate and a type of infinite illusion. But as amazing as it was, it would be too troublesome to decipher it, especially since he had a limited knowledge on _genjutsus_.

Taking a breath, he proceeded to walk towards the barrier, against the loud protests of his physical instincts. Gritting his teeth in an attempt to ignore it, he shut his eyelids right as he stepped into the wall, expecting a crash ... that never came. Instead, a loud train's whistle called proudly and his nostrils were met with the smoky air of burnt coal. Opening his eyes, immediately, the sleek scarlet steam engine, waiting patiently beside the platform, caught his attention: the Hogwarts Express. Its grand form had all its doors open, and from the clear glass windows, Shikamaru could spot a couple of students already inside, talking animatedly. Unfortunately, none of them was a sixth year Slytherin, but this next part of his plan depended on all of them sitting together, which was likely, but not guaranteed. Spinning his figure around, he stepped alongside the length of the train's structure- his rapidly darting eyes scanning the the lithe crowd. It was only a few seconds before he spotted a flash of pure blond hair. A twinge of a smirk lightly curled onto his features, while he judged the timing of his next move.

"Found you."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was getting increasingly impatient at his mother's continuous whining. They had arrived at King's Cross not five minutes ago, and she had not given him a single break since then. He knew that she was informed of the mission the Dark Lord assigned him, and although this nagging was almost an annual tradition, it was grating on his nerves – his patience could only run so thin.

"–member that education is very important for your future, so make sure to properly study this year as usual, Draco. And to do all your –"

"Enough! Leave me be! I'm getting on the train now," he spoke vehemently. He did not need her to fawn over him. Worrying about something as insignificant as school – he scoffed lightly and turned on his heels.

"Goodbye, Mother." He wasn't so heartless as to leave his mother without a word of farewell, especially with the stress that she was under on his behalf. The soft cries of his mother reached his ears and he only marched on. After his father's arrest, he was sure to avenge him and accomplish the Dark Lord's task with flying colours. After this year, she wouldn't have another reason to cry. Not a single one more. He smirked arrogantly as he pictured the Dark Lord praising his services by the end of this year. With it, he would also get promoted to the Inner Circle, to a place where he could stand proudly beside his father. A place which he would have acquired through his own talents. By reflex, his left hand tightened around the polished handle of his refined trunk and his right reached up for the fingers to grasp the smooth silk sleeve covering his left forearm. His mission would begin shortly he thought, determined, as he took a deep breath of the familiar, sooty steam.

Suddenly, a strong frame crashed forcefully into his right side and they both crumpled to the ground, winded. Letting a slight groan escape his lips, he pulled himself back up with a scowl plastered on his face. A boy with a spiky, black ponytail was sprawled on the floor, opposite to him, wearing bourgeois muggle clothing: a simple long-sleeved grey shirt with slightly baggy black pants and common sneakers. He even spotted metal studs pierced in his ear lobes! It was clearly a step down from his aristocratic, finely sewn, and customized silk suit. He looked at the boy with clear disdain.

"Hey!" he snarled. "Watch it you filthy–" he paused mid-sentence when a neatly folded letter with an officially embossed _Ministry_ seal fluttered to the floor beside his foot. Why, or more like _how_, could this _commoner_ could have such a letter? He bent down to pick it up and his eyes widened when he read the elegant script. It was addressed from the Japanese Ministry to the old codger, Dumbledore, detailing the thanks for accepting this new student to Hogwarts. Quickly skimming its contents as the boy lethargically stood up, he immediately identified the boy's high bureaucratic heritage and pure noble's status in the second paragraph. It spoke of his father as the head of the Tactical Strategy Department as well as being a seasoned and veteran Auror. After retiring from the previous war, he had been working directly with the Minister practically every week and was very proud to send his son to "ensure healthy diplomatic relations with the future of the Ministry". It even stated that the Minister was enigmatic to "bring back the lost cultural bonds" shared between the two countries.

Now, Draco Malfoy was not stupid. He was _taught _by the _best_ tutors money could offer that in political speak, it meant that this Ministry wanted to build alliances to boost its own power. The "future of the Ministry" definitely meant people like him, who had equal nobility status and so forth. The many years of social tutoring weren't for nothing he realized, as he remembered the meaning behind all his political lessons. It was his duty, assigned by his father, to secure a powerful political role in the their own British Ministry in order to influentially help the Dark Lord when He usurps the power in the country. If Draco had powerful contacts, he wouldn't even need to worry about education to establish a position in, say, the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Besides, education would not matter when the Dark Lord is in power. His mind whirled as the teen, or Shikamaru Nara, seemed to dust himself off in slow motion. Good relations with other Ministries would get him to great places. Firmly confirming his decision, he will employ the skills that were ingrained in him from childhood.

* * *

Shikamaru deliberately took his time to climb to his feet after purposefully running into the pale-faced boy. Sneaking a glimpse at Malfoy, he noticed that his sharp features and slick-backed hair gave him every appearance of a snobby and spoiled brat. His expressions were quite interesting though, as he watched his eyes flicker madly down the page. His annoyed scowl gradually contorted into a thoughtful look, his expression calculating. Originally, the Fifth had prepared the letter for "proof" of his identity for curious teachers or potential friends, only to be used in the first week. It was supposedly a thank-you letter to the client after all. By utilizing real offices, researching would prove his alibi. Unless someone was bored enough to actually contact the Japanese Ministry with his name, his cover would not be blown. Moreover, since he wouldn't be getting any publicity, he wouldn't have to worry about the involvement of the Japanese Ministry and his false background. It was a well thought-out plan he had to admit. That Professor Dumbledore, no matter how eccentric his looks were, seemed to know his way around things.

"I'm terribly sorry," said Malfoy after pretending not to have read the planted letter (as if he assumed that people were blind when getting up). "I wasn't watching where I was going." He had a very polite smile smeared across his mouth. Fake, but polite.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about it, since it was my fault anyways." Malfoy's expression only spoke of feigned apology and his fingers curled around the letter.

"I haven't seen you around before," he continued, humbly pushing aside his reply. He silently handed back the letter, "but you're definitely not a first year. I'm Draco Malfoy, sixth year. And you are?" Shikamaru accepted the folded paper in equal silence and tucked it in his pants pocket.

"I'm Shikamaru Nara, and that's because I'm a new transfer student, sixth year as well."

"Pleasure." His hand came out and the shinobi clasped it. He noticed Malfoy's smile transforming into a smirk.

"How about you sit with my group? You don't want to go mixing in with the wrong sort." With that, he gestured pointedly with disdain at a group of wild red heads, rowdy and clamoring to get their affairs, physical and mental, in order.

"Sure," he gave a noncommittal sign of his head and Malfoy took it as good of a yes as any other.

"Come on then." With a casual turn, Malfoy strode towards the nearest entrance to the train, and marched up the stairs, carrying his polished suitcase with ease. Halfway up, the teen glanced back at Shikamaru, who was lugging the large trunk. It wasn't heavy, but it was awkward to carry. Its size and sharp angles just barely fit in the stairwell, so it clunked and scraped against the walls with every stair he climbed. What a drag.

"Need a hand there?" Malfoy drawled pointlessly, just as Shikamaru lifted the trunk to the top stair. Giving a brief shake of the head, he spared the other a look when he repositioned the trunk. The teen's gaze flashed reluctance and impatience. It was obvious that he had waited until he _finished_ climbing the staircase to ask.

They continued, pivoting left and walking down the aisle, to the front on the train. Its corridors were blanketed in a lavish crimson carpet and the tastefully textured doors made up its perimeters. Occasionally, a student would peek out of their compartment, only to encounter Malfoy's condescending sneer and, if they're unlucky, a sharp comment on their heritage and their lack of... well, anything. He soon learned that Malfoy could get really creative with his insults.

"Do you know much of Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked abruptly, after insulting a second year Hufflepuff. He had somehow associating her hair colour to her father's sacking in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He glanced back just as she hastily slammed one of the compartment doors shut after a mockery of her family's skills in Charms.

"Not really, only some basic history," he lied. It was far from the truth. Of course, in order to successfully execute the mission, he would have to know the landscape and environment of the setting, as well as its history and the current blueprint of its structure. Learning the magical patterns of the corridor and stair movement, however, took over an hour. He almost believed that there were none until he found a correlation with the positions of the planets. It was a pain in the ass to decipher, and if it were not a part of the mission requirements, he never would have attempted in the first place.

"Then do you know which house you'd be in?" For the first time in minutes, he looked back at him and with such strong scrutiny that Shikamaru almost narrowed his eyes. With the intense focus, it was obvious that housing was extremely critical in the blonde's mind.

"Not a clue," he lied again in the most carefree manner possible. Certainly he knew. In the mission outlines, it said that they would hold a mock Sorting Ceremony so that he would get placed in Gryffindor in order to keep a better eye on the charge. The Slytherin's gaze calmed and he turned back around.

"I'm in Slytherin and it's the best house there is," he said smugly as he suddenly reached out to slide open a compartment door. The inside was just as luxurious as the outside, if not, more so. Sitting on the scarlet embroidered seat, were two guys and a girl: three curious faces stared unabashedly back at him. Upon first glance, he instinctively named them Lump 1,2 and Pug. Their expressions were like open books and their thoughts were loud enough for him to hear. Who was this guy that was so important for their leader to personally invite into their compartment?

"This is Shikamaru Nara, a new transfer student. And this is Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson," said Malfoy, pointing to each in turn. Letting out an inaudible sigh, Shikamaru lifted a hand in a friendly wave and managed to produce a sociable smile. Thick armed and husky, the human gorillas grunted without bothering to mirror his actions or to show any human sign of acknowledgement for any matter. Parkinson's squashed-up visage just stared, her left eye twitching. How rude.

After settling their belongings in the luggage rack and sitting down - Crabbe, Goyle, Shikamaru, Malfoy and Parkinson in clockwise order - Parkinson immediately sidled to Malfoy, demanding his attention with those wide, and now fluttering, eyes and started to preen his golden strands. Disturbing. Contrary to Malfoy's non-existent movements, Shikamaru would've definitely shoved her and her spidery paws away and then just find a new compartment altogether. He doubted that there was actually someone who would _like_ those stiff fingers raking through their hair.

"So Nara," spoke Malfoy, somehow tolerating Parkinson's fingers. "How have –"

The sliding door interrupted his words, and in stepped another one of their companions. Quickly introduced as Blaise Zabini, the lanky boy wandered in, threw his luggage overhead without much thought, and took a seat beside Crabbe.

"And who's this character?" He spoke arrogantly, just like the rest and stared at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh that's Nara, the new transfer student," replied Malfoy.

"That so? Tell us about yourself." It seems that 'the smirk' was the favourite facial expression among Slytherins, since that was all they had plastered on their faces. The exception being the two gorillas, who seemed to be incapable of human mannerisms.

"Well, I'm a sixth year like you guys. My birthday is September 22nd and I'm 170cm tall. I come from the capital city of Tokyo, where the majority of magical Japan lives and where I've lived all my life." Broad and worthless information. Shikamaru was well aware of it, but he wouldn't care to reveal too much of his alibi.

"Um, no Nara. Who'd care about useless stuff like that?" he scoffed. "What's your family's status?" Of course blood purists would introduce themselves first with their family name and status.

"Heh, fine then. In that case, my dad is a long standing strategist that works personally with the Minister. My family is one of the several nobility in the community, and it shares close ties and traditions with two others." Predictably, their eyes flashed at the mention of his supposed aristocracy, and Malfoy's smirk deepened, if possible. They all relaxed considerably with the new found knowledge of his pure blood and Parkinson even dared to send a wink his way. Getting "sorted" into Gryffindor couldn't come fast enough.

"So why're you coming to Hogwarts as a transfer?" she questioned. "Were you hoping to make connections here? 'Cause Slytherin's the perfect house for that," she added, fluttering her ostentatious lashes.

"They made me come here," he responded blankly, with every effort reigning in his disgust. "For political reasons. Whatever, all I have to do is get good marks and, as they call it, 'assess the state of the British magical community'," he said half-truthfully. They laughed. They have been in the same type of situations before, being the sons or daughter of a rich and powerful family. They understood the dull political tasks required to maintain a family's status. And with that, they finally relaxed. With that, he had successfully infiltrated into the Slytherin ranks. At least for now.

"Hm. So what'd you guys do during the summer?" asked Malfoy. And so with that, the concentration lapsed into the rich adventures of the snobby Slytherins. If they weren't so arrogant and didn't try to pull everything in their favour all the time, they might've been okay people, he thought as he absently listened to "Celebrating in the Caribbeans" by Pansy Parkinson and how the new uv protection spell "totally saved her skin".

He managed to maintain an interested visage for the most part, albeit with a nod and a 'yeah' here and there, but during Zabini's "Escapade throughout Economical Europe", he couldn't take it any more and his gaze drifted to stare out the window.

* * *

Two hours passed before someone interrupted Malfoy's animated retelling of his "Adventures in Aristocratic America". His conceited expression immediately went sour and he spun around to rudely comment on the boy's evident lower family status. The fourth year messenger beat him to it however and Malfoy was left with his mouth half open.

"I've got two invitations for one Shikamaru Nara and one Blaise Zabini. A luncheon in compartment C," the boy stated promptly. He thrust out his hand with two scrolls wrapped in violet ribbon, dropped it plainly into their respective hands, and left as soon as he came. Malfoy had his face all scrunched up like a crumpled piece of paper and looked like he had half a mind to follow that Ravenclaw.

"What is it?" squealed Parkinson, her hand slowing mid stroke.

He and Zabini exchanged a look, nodded and untied the silky ribbon. The parchment unfurled neatly and inside, in plain slanted script, it said:

' _Shikamaru, _

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely, Professor H.E.F. Slughorn'_

"It's from a new professor... Slughorn?" said Zabini. By this point, it seemed that Malfoy had decided that it was not worth chasing after a useless Mudblood and had asserted his authority over the group.

"Oh him. My father told me about him as the Potion's Master during his time," drawled Malfoy, acting as if his cool had never been shaken. Parkinson stopped the stroking of his hair at those words and stared.

"Potions? Are you sure? Then what about Professor Snape?" she asked with a curious gleam in her eye.

"Who knows? Maybe this year, he finally got the Defense against Dark Arts post," he said nonchalantly.

"And you guys are going for lunch?" squeaked Parkinson. Jealousy flashed across Malfoy's face, and he clenched his fists into his silk robes.

"Yea, I dunno. Let's get going," said Zabini. Shikamaru nodded mutely, and silently filed out of the compartment, leaving behind Malfoy's displeased scowl and frustrated air.

* * *

Jolly and balding, the round bellied man jumped up when Zabini slid open the compartment door.

"Ah! The first ones! Welcome! Welcome to the Slug Club! Blaise Zabini and Shikamaru Nara, I presume?" They nodded simultaneously and held out their hands in order. When the professor shook his, he noted how the grip was firm and his skin was callused and dry – a potion's master indeed.

"A great pleasure. Please, find a seat and have some of the food! I'm not too fond of the trolley's platters so I prepared a little something," he continued, motioning to the great circular table behind him. Apparently, 'a little something' meant a four course meal, all laid out on the formal chiffon tablecloth. His eyes wandered in amusement as he filed in after Zabini, scanning the contents of the meal: black caviar, seasonal salad with garlic bread rolls, whole broiled pheasants, and mixed berry pies with whipped cream topping. He let out a light chuckle and sat down on the cushioned seat nearest to the window. Wizards are sure luxurious. Back in the village, the fanciest foods around were BBQ and _ramen_.

"So who else is coming?" spoke a bold female voice. Behind the pile of pheasants peeked out a head of flaming red hair. Ginny Weasley, he recognized: a friend of his charge and also the younger sister of his best friend. He also recognized her from the family of redheads earlier on the platform. Zabini's neutral mask crinkled unpleasantly.

"Well, just a couple of other students. I've invited Marcus Belby, Cormac McLaggen, Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter!" Slughorn replied joyfully, completely unaware of Zabini's bitter change in mood.

"Oh, I'm friends with the last two," she said as if being friends with the biggest celebrity in the magical world was just as common as the wands in their pockets.

"Is that so?" Slughorn's eyes twinkled calculatingly. Evidently, being acquainted with other members of the 'Slug Club' gave you points for potential.

"Professor Slughorn," Zabini stated bluntly, completely disregarding the earlier topic. "What subject are you teaching this year?" From the look in his eyes, it seemed that he didn't believe Malfoy's testimony and wanted to confirm it himself.

"Ah yes! Of course you'd be curious. As a favour to Dumbledore, I'm resuming my old post as –" The door slid open once more with an almighty clatter, drowning out the professor's words. How timely.

"– but I think I'll just stay for one year. I don't fancy coming _out_ of retirement you know!" Zabini could almost scream in frustration, if the sweat and the white knuckles were anything to indicate by. Slughorn merely turned obliviously to the new student, whose tall figure stood proudly in the doorway. "Welcome! Cormac McLaggen, am I correct?"

"Yes, Professor Slughorn. It's a great honour to meet you!" he said confidently while firmly shaking the professor's seasoned hand.

"Well, I've heard all about your Uncle Tiberius. Great student, he was. We'll have to talk more about him!" He smiled fondly at the imaginary memories in the air and led McLaggen inside.

"Yeah of course, Professor." He had every symptom of those students that would suck up to teachers for good marks.

Just as Slughorn was about to close the door, a hand reached out to stop it and a head of chestnut hair peeked out.

"Sorry there Professor," the teen said nervously. He was biting his lip, like he was expecting detention even though the invite clearly said that it was just a lunch.

"Ah, Marcus Belby! Have a seat, have a seat!" Once again clasping hands, the professor showed a seat. Not long after did he sit down, did the last members finally arrive.

"Harry, m'boy!" he announced with a booming voice when the boy with the ruffled black hair make his appearance known. There was his charge. Stocky with a head of untamable black hair and with the distinct lightning scar on his forehead. And another friend, Neville Longbottom, the boy whose nerves were even worse than Belby's, and whose parents are not to be mentioned for classified, but mostly personal, reasons."Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" He shook their hands in turn.

"Now, do you know everyone?" he said mainly to Harry. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course..." The chuunin instantly felt the thick tension between both parties – so this must be the infamous Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. He can practically taste the future fights between the two houses this coming year. That he would then need to sort out. Fun.

"A new transfer student, Shikamaru Nara, same year." Their eyes met and Shikamaru just gave a lazy nod which Harry stiffly returned with a blank expression. At least now his charge knew his name and face.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other –? No? And this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether – No matter, and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" The shinobi only watched mildly as the friends exchanged silent looks.

* * *

Once all the guests were seated and the introductions were all made, Slughorn passed around pheasants and started to interrogate them. To find out how well they kept in contact with their famous relatives and such. The chuunin could care less about the politics in this mission, since he was only tasked to protect the school, and _not_ the whole country, thankfully. Luckily that meant that he could probably do some cloud-gazing during the exchange of political jargon. He himself was probably called here because his cover is well acquainted with the Ministry and he had potential, being skilled enough to be accepted as a transfer. As he waited for his turn, his stare wandered back to the clouds floating in midair, matching the train's speed with the aid of the north wind.

"Nara, would you like a pie?" said Slughorn suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie. Only ten minutes have passed, but he politely took a pie regardless.

"So you've come all the way from magical Japan! And I hear that your father is particularly friendly with the Japanese Minister himself! Do you know much of the Ministry?"

"Well, kind of. I go there often enough and I've talked to the Minister before." Pretending that the Minister is the Fifth of course.

"Really?" Slughorn's eyes bulged while Zabini narrowed his. He caught a glimpse of Cormac scowling minutely – probably jealous that Slughorn focused the limelight on him instead.

"So your father used to be an Auror, correct? What does he do now that connects him with the Minister?" continued Slughorn.

"He's a tactician, a strategist. He suggests how to use our resources, how to spend our budget, and other things along that line."

"Did your father suggest that you participate as a transfer here?"

"No, the Minister made that decision, mostly based on my academics," he replied casually. It was largely because he was the only one capable of learning all this boring stuff within one summer's time.

"Well then! I'll be looking forward to having you in my class this coming term!" he boomed with great interest. And with that, he moved on to the next victim. Neville Longbottom. So Shikamaru simply looked away and back out the window.

When it was finally Harry's turn, the chuunin only managed to gain insight on the public's view on him, and his extreme dislike of attention, judging by his constant finger twitching. He was apparently the Chosen One, named by the prophet. Ironically, it's true. Of course, not that any of the idiots at the press would know the truth.

* * *

Once twilight began to paint its evening hues, Slughorn finally stopped his never ending series of anecdotes of his students and let them go back to their compartments to change. Harry was a few feet behind him but his keen shinobi ears managed to pick out his charge hastily excusing himself from his friends. As Zabini and himself changed direction to return to their compartment, Shikamaru surreptitiously chanced a last glance at his charge, only to see him disappear in a whirl of fabric! The infamous cloak of Invisibility he realized instantly. Ah the uses of magic...

Upon entering the compartment, Shikmaru felt Harry's distinct green magical signature zip over their heads to the luggage rack when Zabini was pushed aside by the 'malfunctioning door'. Since wizards didn't have matured chakra coils, the only way to sense them would be with their magical signatures. He had to spend three entire days drinking tea in the lobby area of the Leaky Cauldron to get his sensing abilities up to par, but he knew it would be incredibly useful in the near future. Interestingly enough, it almost felt like every wizard had a different colour to them. And Harry's was green.

Shikamaru settled down in his previous seat beside the window and concentrated. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the quick inhaling and the exhaling of Harry's breath. The most logical reason that he could think of for Harry's sporadic entry was with his history of investigating mysteries of every sort: the philosopher's stone, the chamber of secrets, ... the list goes on. From the reports, he was a true Gryffindor in the sense that he usually acted before thinking through the potentially damaging action. As much as Harry might complain that trouble comes to him, he does go looking for it a considerable amount as well. Shikamaru just sighed.

Looking across from himself, Malfoy looked as annoyed as ever about missing out on a political interrogation. During the time that they were gone, he had finally succumbed to Parkinson's pruning and laid his head down on her lap. He questioned Zabini irritably about the previous dinner in hopes that the invitees were worthless people (which they were in his opinion), but the fact that Slughorn didn't like Death Eaters put him off greatly and he slumped into an even fouler mood.

Noting the flickering lamps outside, he decided that now was a good time as any to change, and it was even better before the rush of the other students. And if Harry picked up on his cue, the reckless teen could use the opportunity to leave before the angry Malfoy picked up on his presence.

"Hey guys, I'm going to change now before the rush." They answered with noncommittal grunts and nods, thankfully without asking why he didn't change in the compartment, so the shinobi stood up, and fished out his robes from his trunk (which happened to be on the opposite end of Harry) and left. He opened the door quite slowly and all the way, not even standing in the way of the opening. He left quickly, and took equally long to shut it. Nada. That Gryffindor was far too daring for his own good. That, or he didn't catch the hint. Either way, his charge was already presenting problems, and they didn't even arrive at school yet. Troublesome, way too troublesome.

* * *

These robes were a drag. They were incredibly loose and prevented fast movement since the fabric would catch. It swished around excessively, restricting his motions. He grimaced at the black material. Although they were comfortable, these robes are not for shinobi. The only good aspect would be that it'd be easier to hide things underneath it, which would be also disadvantageous to him when facing a wizarding opponent.

In any case, this was a requirement, and he'll just have to get used to it. He frowned, then re entered the compartment in the same fashion as before, and still yet, the green magical signature stubbornly stayed put. Strangely enough, with his entrance, the compartment fell silent and they all had the 'I'm-hiding-something' look – Malfoy less than the others. Well, it couldn't have been prevented that they started talking after he left; he only just met them and they were unsure of his alliances. Even if he falsely declared that he was on Voldemort's side, they probably wouldn't trust him since they were sensible Slytherins. Harry's still hiding though, so maybe he can wheedle the earlier conversation out of him, presuming that they said anything interesting. Unfortunately, at this rate, he'll have to come back and bust his charge back out, if Malfoy's darting eyes was anything to go by. Since Malfoy was actually aware of his nemesis' presence, he subtly let his sealed letter slip out from his robe pocket and it fluttered into a dusty corner, unseen.

"We'd better get our robes on," said Zabini abruptly as he spotted the rising silhouette of the castle and the others nodded their agreement. One by one, they pulled their luggage off the rack. When Goyle lugged his, it clunked and bumped into something. Shikamaru heard Harry gasp in pain. The sound definitely confirmed Malfoy's suspicions, and his eyes lit up maliciously.

Within minutes, they were all changed and the train had slowed down to a rattling crawl before coming to a sudden halt. Crabbe forced open the door and smashed his way through the crowd until they were wise enough to part. He followed after Zabini and Parkinson after him, but Malfoy stayed put. Dealing with Potter of course. Foolish school rivalries. Using his shinobi skills, he parted stealthily from the group without them noticing and doubled back to the compartment right next to them. He activated a jutsu and blended himself into the shadows on the floor. Then he waited. He only listened while Malfoy paralyzed Harry with the Full Body Bind Curse, and he only listened while the former drawled about his suspicions. He listened to the cartilage crack under force and the swishing of the cloak to cover the victim. He kept on waiting until Malfoy had exited the corridor. Then he acted. Coming out of his hiding place, he noted with satisfaction that there was still a current of students flowing through to the exit. In other words, if he acted fast, they could make it onto the carriages before they left without them.

Pulling open the door, he sensed Harry lying on the floor, who was probably hoping that he would notice him. He walked over to grab his letter (his reason for returning) and then proceeded to step on the frozen figure of Harry Potter. He paused with a jolt, as if he didn't expect anything there, and then bent down to feel around. Grabbing the cloth, he threw it off him and put on a shocked face at the paralyzed body. But he really did have a lot of blood on him from that one nosebleed. The shinobi pulled out his wand and muttered "_Finite_" and Harry shot into a sitting position.

"Thanks, er... Nara, right?" he said while attempting to stem the blood flow from his nose, now even stronger in his new position.

"That's me. Hold on, _Episkey_," he enunciated. That was a spell from a potions text, strangely enough, relating the effects of a potion to that of this healing spell. He committed it to memory just like all the rest, but this one stood out especially because of its potential uses. Immediate first aid with just a magic word, literally. The blood stopped immediately.

"Oh wow, thanks! Can I ask –"

"Come on," he interrupted. The last footsteps were fading out of the train. "We gotta go before the carriages leave."

"Oh! Er, right," he said, embarrassed. He grabbed his cloak and followed Nara as he ran out of the compartment, and then the train. The pitter patter of their steps were muffled on the gravel path but after a few seconds of sprinting, they caught up to the last line of students, casually striding up to the remaining carriages.

Shikamaru was warned, but he gave a start anyways when he saw the skeletal creatures in person. The lustrous black coat made its bones clearly defined and the leathery wings, almost like extra large bat wings, flapped in anticipation. One angled its head and stared at him with its pupil-less eyes. A haunting glory. A personification of death.

"Nara?" asked Harry uncertainly. "Can you see them too?"

"The threstrals? Yeah, I can see them..." he replied absently. "I read about them, but I never saw any pictures. And the real thing... is something else."

Harry nodded mutely and they climbed aboard the last black carriage, which was conveniently empty. Sitting opposite each other, they settled down just as it lurched forward in the procession to the castle. The shinobi just stared out the window.

"Erm, why were you sitting with the Slytherins?" blurted Harry. Shikamaru could tell that that question was burning in his mind ever since he saw him enter the sixth year Slytherin compartment.

"Because they were the first people I met." It was only half-true considering that he sought them out purposefully. Not that it mattered considering he would have to tell his charge countless lies to support his alibi and his actions.

"You think they're okay?" he asked stiffly. At that, he focused his gaze back on Harry. His eyes were burning with suspicion and caution, and he knew that his answer would justify whatever thoughts Harry had on him.

"They're arrogant toe-rags, but finding another compartment would've been too troublesome." Harry snorted at that and brightened up considerably. His entire frame had been rigid, but now he let loose and his breath evened out.

"You have a lot of blood on you, by the way," he added. Harry scrunched his eyebrows in confusion but then gave an audible gasp when he looked at his faint reflection in the window.

"Thanks," Harry said and then muttered "_Tergeo_". He spent the rest of the ride siphoning blood off his face and then used a quick _Scourgify _to clean his soiled robes.

Shikamaru simply watched Hogwarts loom into greater definition.

* * *

They got off within a few minutes and entered through the huge oak doors. Just across, was a grand marble staircase and to its right, ran the river of students to the Great Hall. The moment he filed in the Entrance Hall after the others, however, he was poked hard with the rounded end of a stick, which started to vibrate instantly. The shinobi blinked, and took another look at the object: it was a gold squiggly stick... with a sort of probe at the end. When the identity of the object dawned on him, he could only swear.

"Shit." It was a Secrecy Sensor. He saw a couple at Diagon Alley and he had made sure to stay well away from them. Now, even if he didn't have the disillusioned pouch of weapons on him, everything shinobi about him would set it off anytime he went near it. This was one thing that wasn't in the information paquet. A very important bit of information too!

The scraggly person holding it drew it back, and gave a triumphant hollar.

"Here's another one! Here's another! Now, what're you hiding underneath that cloak of yours, hmm?"

"Oh, that's strange. I don't have anything on me," he said casually while his mind whirred in a frenzy. Thinking of how the Deputy Headmistress customarily greets the new students at the door, he added, "Maybe ask Professor McGonagall if there's a problem with the device. After using it on so many people, maybe it malfunctioned."

"Ha! Not this time, you nasty little liar. Finally, I can –"

"Filch! What are you doing?" The clear brisk voice could not have come later. He breathed an internal sigh of relief and his mind cleared up from the previous stunt. Looking over past Filch's shoulder, he pinpointed a tall figure hurriedly coming over in long strides. So this was Professor McGonagall: one of the few who knew his true identity. She could be the complete opposite of Tsunade-sama, with her tight bun and the thin line that was her mouth, since she emanated a sense of a strict disciplinarian. They were about the same age (not that appearances could tell), but the Fifth would be the one breaking all the rules, not enforcing. She placed a wizened hand on his shoulder and steered him well away from the Sensor. She then tapped it with her wand (just for show), "fixing" it and then looked at the caretaker.

"There. It seemed to have overloaded for a bit. But now it's in working order." He looked very disgruntled, but obliged. He started to walk over to Shikamaru to probe him once more, but the professor promptly ushered him back to the ebbing flow of students. "Well, don't delay, it's already quite late now. Mr. Potter!" she stated, spotting the audience to the spectacle. "What are you doing, standing there. Go on to the feast. It's nearly started!"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said hastily.

"See you around then," Shikamaru said to a bemused Harry, who had the beginnings of a smirk appearing at the lips.

"Yeah," Harry said simply, and he hurried off with the last of the crowd to dinner. Once they dissipated and Filch had wandered off with bitter murmurs, Professor McGonagall rounded on him.

"Mr. Nara! Why are you one of the last to arrive?" she huffed and looked at him expectantly through her fierce spectacles. Under her cat-like scrutiny, he offered no explanation. Just a blank stare. She huffed once more.

"No matter, come. We need to get you sorted. Afterwards, you are to go to the Headmaster's office for further instructions." He nodded.

"Yes, Professor," he responded obediently. Professor McGonagall gave him another critical stare as if judging his aptitude, but then motioned for him to wait at the annex off the hall, where the First Years have already received her annual talk. He complied without question and left her taut presence to join the other new arrivals. It was of no loss that he missed it; he already knew what to do anyways: walk to the stool when his name is called and put on the hat.

However, his indifference was not felt by his company. The first years were nervous wrecks, save the occasional confident prick, but the entire group was shivering with apprehension. When he arrived, no one commented, perhaps because one more stranger to their midst wasn't such a great deal. As a group, they had only waited a minute before the doors moved. Without warning, they swung wide open, revealing the twitching students to the entire population of the school, bathed in the candlelight of the glorious Great Hall.

Let the Sorting begin.

* * *

AN: Once again, I thank you for reading this chapter! And with hopeful thoughts that you might've enjoyed it (I'll never know or improve unless you review!)

I apologize for those who were looking for some Ron/Hermione/Shikamaru interaction; I didn't want to write another chapter that exists in dozens of other stories when the shinobi just idly sits by in Harry's compartment, throwing some comments in here and there.. Since I'm writing an overused plot line (but I really like it), I'll try to make things as different as possible (another reason why I chose the sixth year- not a lot of people do). It took me a long time to figure out where Shikamaru should sit in this scene, so I hope you liked it!

In my opinion, Draco Malfoy doesn't change for the better until the middle of the book. He's still all about the Dark Lord and blood purity in the beginning, and is still as arrogant as ever. He thinks he can handle this task, until reality tells him otherwise.

Regarding the last chapter, I know that Shikamaru probably could've understood all five years of theory under a weeks' time, but it is the actual spellwork that would take the rest of the 3 weeks available. It seems to me that Shikamaru was never really the physical type. Intellectual and theory he can understand really easily, but practical seems to be much more difficult for him. Additionally, attempting to make all the different potions covered in the years 1-5 must take _a lot_ of time to accomplish. Brewing potions was always really time-consuming. In battle, he seems to have more difficulty and always traps his enemies with the use of intellect versus actual skill (which is also what makes his character so awesome). We never see him training alone after all...

And this time, no promises! Sorry, I've got finals coming up, but would you guys prefer short but more frequent chapters, or longer but not as frequent? Until the next chapter! Review with your opinions =)


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